Recovery and the Return of Ethan Hart Read Free

sing it. “‘San Francisco…open your golden gate…’” Heads turn towards our table and she giggles and feigns bashfulness. “I remember Jeanette MacDonald singing it in that film with Clark Gable and Spencer Tracy and the earthquake. I suppose the song’s called ‘San Francisco’. I can’t remember what the film is.”
    â€œâ€˜San Francisco’,” Walt supplies and we all laugh. I get the passing thought that it was calculated (Trixie is by no means the dumb blonde she pretends, any more than I’m the brainy brunette she also claims) but it’s still quite funny.
    â€œAnd I once read ‘A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court’,” I say to Matt. “So I’m well up on where you come from, too.”
    This time it’s only him and me who laugh. Trixie is too busy saying to Walt, “I liked that film; I found it ever so inspiring. Spencer Tracy’s in the one we’re going to see tonight. It’s called ‘Without Love’.”
    â€œWell, is that right? We’ve been wanting to catch up on that movie for months. Didn’t you say so just the other day, Matt?”
    â€œWhat?”
    Walt has to remind him meaningfully of what he had said so emphatically just the other day.
    â€œOh, sure,” Matt confirms. “I’ve been boring everybody senseless!”
    We arrive at the Electric Picture Palace in time for the full programme—and bypass the longest queues by going in the dearest seats and needing to stand on the staircase for only a few minutes. The full programme comprises a second-feature, the news, Food Flashes, trailers, a Pete Smith Speciality, a medley of tunes on the theatre organ… I’m always pleased to get my money’s worth and so, I find out now, is Matt, “even down to your God Save the King,” he shamelessly confesses. But Trixie and Walt decide not to see the end of the big picture (so that we’ll have longer in the pub) and Matt and I fall in obligingly.
    â€œYou didn’t mind?” he asks, as we walk together a short way behind the other two—who proceed first arm-in-arm and then, soon after, arm-round-waist.
    I shake my head. “But I’m not the one who’s been so frantic to catch up with it.”
    â€œIn fact, I have an admission.” I’m sure he already surmises, from the little he’s drawn out of me, that he isn’t really spoiling my enjoyment. “I found it talkative and dull.”
    â€œOh, what a letdown! I’m truly sorry.”
    â€œAnd irritating! All those ‘by gums’ which were clearly meant to be so full of charm!”
    â€œI know! You sat there almost waiting for the next! And what about her proud and tearful memory of her dying husband—who ‘grinned that grin of his’? I think I’d even have accepted a couple of extra ‘by gums’ in exchange.”
    â€œCareful! Two more might have brought us to screaming point!”
    So in a way, although the film undoubtedly had entertaining moments (which we conscientiously acknowledge), we have more fun pulling it to pieces than we got out of watching it.
    â€œAnyhow, despite all that, it was a good night out at the pictures. A very good night,” I add on impulse.
    â€œFor me, too. Though I’d have to say not entirely on account of the movie. I don’t know if you gathered that.”
    â€œThank you for treating me.”
    Then we talk about how wonderful it is that the last blackout restrictions have finally been lifted and that the streetlights are on again; no more being obliged to carry torches which could only be directed at one’s feet. No more need, even, for headlamps to wear a covering—nor traffic lights—although admittedly there isn’t much traffic now except for bikes. It’s like a glimpse of El Dorado to see the light from the pub spilling out across the