# Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3828/Aunt Louisa's Song Scena

AUNT LOUISA'S SONG SCENA.
Just as adversity sometimes brings out men's strongest characteristics, hitherto unsuspected, so can amateur theatricals lead to surprising discoveries of humour and resource. Everyone must have noticed it.
No one had ever credited Aunt Louisaa with any dramatic sense whatever. She is so gentle and so placid. She was always something of a knitter, and, like all essential knitters, given to sitting a little outside of life; but since the war broke out she has knitted practically without ceasing; and who would dream of going to a knitter for stage effects?
Therefore we were astonished when, in talking over the projected Saturday night's entertainment, Aunt Louisa ventured the statement that she had thought out a scheme for a little interlude, and might she be permitted to carry it out? Just a mere fill up, but topical, or possibly even more than topical—prophetic.
Of course she might.
"Is it a tableau?" our stage manager inquired.
"No, I shouldn't call it a tableau," said Aunt Louisa; "I should call it a song scena."
How on earth did she hear that phrase? She never goes to music-halls. I would as soon expect to hear her speak of "featuring."
"A song scena," she went "the hero of which is the Kaiser; and I shall want half-a-dozen gentlemen to assist."
The busy fingers knitted away and the gold spectacles were fixed on us with bland benignity. Aunt Louisa writing a song scena and ordering a chorus, just like Mr. George Edwardes, was not the least of the miracles produced by this war.
A company of six of us volunteered, of whom I was one. Another was Mr. Herbert Foley, who has made private theatricals his life study.
"Anything I can do to help you in coaching the performers and so on," he said, I shall be only too pleased to do. You know I'm no chicken at this sort of thing."
"Thank you," said Aunt Louisa, but I think I can manage."
"All right," replied Mr. Foley, "but, of course———. Want of experience———"
"First of all," said Aunt Louisa, "I must choose a Kaiser. Someone who can act."
We all became very self-conscious. Our expressions said severally, "No can act as well as I, but it's rotten form to push oneself forward."
Aunt Louisa scanned us narrowly and, much to everybody else's surprise, picked out Tommy Thurlow. To my mind she could not have made a worse choice; but, as it happened, her judgment was sound.
Foley seemed piqued. "Then what do we do?" he asked.
"You are chorus men," said she.
"Chorus!" said Foley.
"Isn't that the right word? I know so little about these things. Perhaps I ought to have said 'supers.'"
She then told us what to d, knitting all the while.
On the evening Aunt Louisa's song scena was the success of the show. It was called "The Haunted Kaiser," and it began with a distracted demented Tommy Thurlow, with the familiar Potsdam moustache and an excellent wig from London, rushing on with his fingers in his ears. No doubt as to who it was—the War Lord in a state bordering on delirium. Having calmed down a little, he began to sing:—
At this point a number of tea-trays were smitted resonantly "off." Tommy dramatically heard them and sang:—
More tea-tray.
Tremendous applause, while Tommy prepared for the second verse and Aunt Louisa's great effect.
Here on several concertinas in different parts of the hall, as well as upstairs, was heard, "It's a long way to Tipperary." Tommy began to behave like a maniac. He rushed about more wildly than before. He stopped his ears. He tried to hide. Then he began to sing again:—
Now came the great dramatic effect. On to the stage climbed, in the latest revue manner, from all parts of the house, the army of which I had the honour to be one, all pointing the finger of doom at the cringing Tommy Thurlow. Having got him well into our midst and broken to the world, we sang at him these stirring lines to a too familiar tune:—
Terrific success; and, after some moments of reluctance, Aunt Louisa, still knitting a sock, was induced to bow.
But it wasn't a bad first effort at drama by an old lady in gold spectacles, was it? I have seen worse by professional writers.