Barky was the stage manager. He’d never talked behind my back like I knew Ellen sometimes did and, though he was careful not to show me any favouritism, of all the people at Crillick’s I trusted him the most. There was no reason for him to look out for me, but I was glad that he did. Lean and mysterious like a shadow, his greying dark hair cut convict-short, Barky took seriously his job to look after the performers. He moved quiet as a cat. I was never sure how long he had been somewhere before he announced himself. He saw himself as an uncle and liked to call us his family. I suppose we were in a way. All families row and fight and secretly hate one another, don’t they? That’s what it was like at Crillick’s. All those performers with their own high pride and jealousies. Barky always checked up on us before a show so we did not miss our cue.

Now, right on cue himself, he appeared behind us in the wings and tutted to see Ellen and me in dressing gowns and drawers.

‘Come on, girls, you should be in costume by now. You know who’ll get the rollicking if you’re late.’

He made his usual noise, something between a cough and a snort. It came out when we annoyed him, which was often. The strange sound had led to his nickname but he didn’t seem to mind that that’s what we called him. It never occurred to me back then to wonder what his real name was.

‘There’s a man …’ Ellen began but trailed off when I shook my head. It felt wrong to bring the African to Barky’s attention. The stranger may have rattled me but he had done nothing wrong, and it was reassuring that he hadn’t caught Barky’s eye. If there had been anything untoward in the crowd, I knew Barky would have spotted it.

‘No more dallying then,’ Barky said and clapped his hands to shoo us along.

Ellen jumped to it but I couldn’t tear my eyes from the African. His head was bent over his programme now. He traced a finger down the page, studying the acts to come. Ballerinas, acrobats, a magician and then: the Great Amazonia. Barky’s arm stole round my shoulder. From another man the gesture would have made me cringe, but all the girls felt safe with Barky. He was the only man among the theatre workers that never made lewd remarks, nor lingered while we girls got changed.

‘What’s got you spooked, girl?’

I desperately wanted to tell him, but I barely understood it myself. Back then I didn’t realise that the impression this African had made on me would be the start of something lasting, that it would change the way I lived my life and how I saw myself.