Round the Bandstand

Introduction

“Round the Bandstand” is a short, funny, romping tale that shows readers a party of young adults through the perspective of a young woman. Flirtations and rejections abound within the story as teens of an almost-marriageable age  navigate a social scene in 1910s London that is just as relatable today.

This short story was written by Frank Swinnerton, a respected writer of the early 20^th century. At the time that “Bandstand” was published, Swinnerton was 26 years old; the previous year, he had published his first novel in the midst of working at a publishing firm in London. He was not married at the time. It is likely that he wrote this story from his own experience, a young man who attended such social events in the city. He was a very private man, and did not marry until his late 30s. It might be a bit surprising that a seemingly quiet man who was not quick to marry would be inclined to write a story about a young lady playing at love. It is possible that he was more of an observer at these social events, witnessing and recording what he saw more than participating.

“Round the Bandstand” appears in volume one of the two-volume periodical The Open Window. This periodical only ran for twelve months, from 1910-1911, but from the two volumes we have, it is plain that the goal was to publish various literary works by young aspiring authors. Swinnerton fits into that category. However, “Bandstand” contrasts sharply with most of the other short stories in the journal in both content and form. It is much more light-hearted than the other works around it. While it supplies commentary on social mores and the inner thoughts of the young person scene in London, it does not delve into any deeper or darker themes. Still, “Bandstand” earns its place in The Open Window for Swinnerton’s delightfully fun and fresh story and his innovative narration. Creativity was the order of the day for The Open Window, and this story certainly meets that standard.

Readers of modernist short fiction will especially appreciate “Round the Bandstand” for its almost exclusive use of free indirect discourse as the source of narration. Though the story is simple, this mode of narration creates a fascinating drama as it unfolds in the mind of its protagonist. As a result, it is a short, digestible read that provokes relatable images and feelings ing readers of the time and readers of today. Swinnerton shows how even a trivial tale can be worthy of a modernist publication if written through the proper lens.

Transcription

"Sainte-Beuve, as he grew older, came to regard all experience as a single great book; . . . and it seemed all one to him whether you should read in Chapter xx., which is the differential calculus, or in Chapter xxxix., which is hearing the band play in the gardens.”—R.L. Stevenson, An Apology for Idlers^[1]From Robert Lewis Stevenson’s essay, “An Apology for Idlers,” paragraph 8.

She wondered if he had seen: it had been the merest drifting flirt of her eyes as he had passed, and the band was still brazening out one of Dvorak’s Humoresques. She didn’t know what it was they were playing—Funny time, she had thought, at first, and then only, Had he seen? Not a bad-looking boy, with his straw-hat a-tilt and his elbows ever so slightly crooked. Damned sauce that other fellow with the squint had, to ogle her with his near eye. He had passed before, she remembered, and looked at her. Like his impudence, to think. . . . A girl standing next to her against the edge of the band-enclosure was whispering to her friend:

"'E said, 'Go fer a plain walk.' . . . I says, ' Oo, I don't go fer plain walks,' I says. 'W'en I go out I go to the the-etter.' Fency! Wanted me t' go out fer a walk withim once a fortnight. Wasn't 'avin' any! Well, would you?"

Beaty gave the contemptuous girl—some skivvy, she supposed—a flying glance of scorn. It was rather hard lines, for a fellow to think he was doing his duty if he walked you round the houses once a fortnight. More fool she, to have taken up with him. Silly young juggins; looked a fool, with her gooseberry eyes, and . . . as for that nose, it was funny! Couldn't wonder at the man keeping it for once a fortnight! Once a year'd be better still! And the hair! She patted her own, the tips of her fingers lightly upon the hairpins, driving home satisfactorily one that had projected. She had the bold and calculating eye herself, quick to seize a possibility and push an advantage; and a mouth that in repose was too thin. The other girl had a great gaping mouth and full lips. Skivvy all over. Made her own dresses, too. Corsets too big, bulging out her blouse, which fell suddenly loose upon her skinny chest.

Ought to be back now, oughtn't he? Must be a weary Willy if he didn't get round the bandstand quicker than that! And he didn't look sleepy, either. She swept a long glance scrutinisingly down towards the end of the enclosed grass plot. There he was! Nice little tweaky nose: looked as though he was up to a bit of fun. He was coming, his walk just slightly exaggerated; the faint light moustache on his upper lip almost invisible in the semi-darkness. No end a dog, he was—thought himself, she corrected. How much nearer was he? She'd show Jinny that it didn't matter about Bob. Hullo, what had happened? Had he stopped? She shot another glance down through the loitering crowd of girls and men, streaming slowly from east to west and from west to east in gay frocks and ugly cheap summer suits. He was lighting a cigarette further along the path. Two other girls had knocked against him, laughing uproariously as they jerked his match-arm, and made the match send a black smoke stain along the cigarette. Silly fools! He was looking after them. What did he do that for? The one in blue’s skirt was three

inches lower at the back than the front. And look at her blouse at the shoulder—like a concertina. Oh, well, she didn't care; it was nothing to her if he looked at other girls. Still, he'd half stopped when she had looked at him. But then perhaps he hadn't seen . . . of course he'd seen. They liked to keep off a bit—to have another look. Perhaps he was afraid? Not him!

If Jinny thought she minded about Bob, she didn't. A great lout like that, with his snickering hee-hee laugh, in a shop with a lot of other fellows. Got his scissors always in his waistcoat pocket, too. You could imagine the tape-measure round his neck. (There was a thread of cotton upon her own sleeve.) Besides, the man couldn't keep still for a second: he was always flopping about from one foot to the other, grinning like the cat in the poster. That might be the shop­walker's eye, or corns. Oh no, she didn't care that! She moved her arm slightly, to show how little she cared; and then felt again among her hairpins. It was only nervousness that made her do it; girls of her class have no other means of occupying their hands under scrutiny.

He was coming along now, swaggering, cocking an eye in her direction. Saucy little swine! But she liked it. Probably he'd stop beside her, lean up against her. He might drop his cane. She had her handkerchief ready to drop: people knew all about that now, though; girls did that in novelettes. Not nice girls, not...ladies. She would not drop her handkerchief. She'd look at him, withdrawing her eyes slowly. He was abreast; should she cough? He had passed! Oh, well, the next time he came round. . . . She followed him with her eyes; he'd got new clothes on, and a clean handkerchief sticking out of his cuff, like swells had them. Damn Jinny, with her smugness . . . getting Bob. . . . What did he see in the girl, with her little pimply face, and her ready-made shilling-three cotton blouses? . . . Well, he was a clumsy brute himself, hopping about. . . . Couldn't keep still. The way Jinny had looked when she told her! As if he was a prince—with his twenty-three bob a week. He'd never get any more—wasn’t smart enough. He'd got plenty of conceit. . . . Conceited, that was what he was.^[2] The original reads: “conceited, that was what he was.” She supposed he hadn't liked her saying that about him last Sunday. "Great clumsy fool!" she had said. "Oh, em I?" he'd said. "Yes, you are!" she had said. "Look what you done! Torn my dress!" He'd turned off pretty smart on to Jinny then. They had giggled and snickered together. Potty, they were!

Where had that boy got to? There he was, at the other side of the stand, leaning on the railings. What were they going to play? Oh, Blue Danube; she knew that. It was lovely! She'd danced that at the old Clerkenwell Town Hall before it was closed. What was that? He'd raised his hat to some girl! It was! He'd started talking to the girl; she was giggling, and turning away. He pressed himself against the railing. . . . She was laughing screamingly. It was one of those girls who'd knocked against him. Little cat! He'd caught hold of her arm. . . .

"Our dance, Miss," said a facetious voice behind her. What was that? She was so intent upon watching that fellow across the other side, that she couldn't take it in. Got a bead necklace, the girl had—get them for a penny! Fancy being attracted by a penny necklace! He must be a fool! Little teeny moustache he'd got—wasn’t worth calling a moustache. . . .

"Er, good evenin', miss. Warm, ain't it?"

Was that somebody talking to her? She turned abruptly. It was the squint-eyed man.

“Oh, go and boil your face," Beaty said.

The man was obviously gratified at eliciting some response.

“Beautiful gardens, " he said. "Beautiful music they 'ave 'ere. Pity the trains make such a noise."

"Oh, lovely," Beaty said. The eye she could see was clear and honest. The coat was tweed, and respectable. The mouth—well, he'd got nice teeth . . . not a bad-looking fellow.

“Bin wantin' to speak to you all the evenin'," he said.

"Taken you a long time to make up your mind," she told him, but with gentleness.

"You looked so—er—so stand-offish. So lady-like," said the man. Her heart gave a great leap! Did she?

"Would you like to go inside—have a chair? Much more comfor’able . . . You can hear better. . ."

“Just's you like," Beaty said. They moved towards the entrance to the enclosure.

"Lot of people, " said the man.

"Beastly crush," Beaty said, humorously. He laughed.

"I'm sure!" he cried. "Oh, well, comin' in?"

At the gate, at the very gate, they met the boy and his two girls. One was on each side of him; he still held the arm of the girl with the bead necklace. She, for her part, looked at Beaty, and then at her friend on the boy's other side. They both laughed, shriekingly, and the boy looked disconcerted.

"Did you see his eyes!" the girl said. Beaty flamed with anger. Her new friend turned and smiled genially.

"See that kid?" he said.

"Which? The one with the two other kids?" Beaty asked.

"Wonderful how he does it on fifteen bob a week. He's in the same place as me. Licks the stamps and gets the guvnor's tea ready. Keeps himself, somehow."

Beaty said nothing; only went rather self-consciously round to the unoccupied seats, swinging her arms. Licked the stamps, did he! Got the guvnor's tea ready! The band started to play a selection from Götterdämmerung.

"Oh, what a row!" said her friend.

"Wonder he don't clean the windows," Beaty said.

"Eh? Oh . . . oh, he does!" said the man. Her cup of joy was full. The whippersnapper!