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Prince Charming & the dwarf!

At last, my love is looking up!


Published by: Fiona Ford
Published on: 19th Januray 2011

The Snow White costume hanging up in front of me was stunning. ‘I love it,’ I breathed to the wardrobe lady at the Grand Theatre in Wolverhampton.
I was starring in panto there and was getting my costume fitted.
‘This dress is going to look perfect,’ I smiled, fingering the floor-length gold skirt and blue and red satin bodice with puffed sleeves. Trying on Snow White’s trademark red bow hair band, I checked myself out in the mirror framed with light bulbs… and adjusted my beard.
You see, although I could admire this fairy-tale princess’s gorgeous gown, I
knew I’d never be the one wearing it.
Like most women, I loved dressing up. But because I’m only 4ft 5in, I’d had to resign myself to the fact I was never going to play lead roles.
No, as someone suffering from achondroplasia, or dwarfism, there was only one of seven parts I played… Happy, Sneezy, Sleepy, Dopey, I’d played them all!
But it wasn’t just festive shows I appeared in. I’d performed in the Val Kilmer film Willow, and had been a rabbit in The Chronicles of Narnia BBC TV series.
Still, there was one particular role I’d really love to play – apart from Snow White – and that was being someone’s wife.
As a single mum to Bradley, now 20, and Caitlyn, 12, I didn’t have much time for dating. I’d been single eight years. Looking in the mirror now, how could I feel sorry for myself? Even I had to laugh at a woman in a beard! ‘Right,’ I smiled, pulling on my blue pointy hat. ‘I better get back to rehearsals.’
Backstage, I was tugging on pointy slippers when, suddenly, a bloke raced past me. Spinning round to see who was in such a hurry, my hairy chin nearly hit the floor.
‘You could be my principal boy any day,’ I muttered, checking out his cute spiky brown hair and dimpled chin.
Tall, dark-haired and handsome, who was this guy? We’d started rehearsals a day earlier and I hadn’t seen him before.
I had to find out who he was. After asking around, I discovered his name was Sam Poulton.
‘He’s 33 and a sound engineer,’ Grumpy told me. ‘And he’s a massive 6ft 4in tall.’
That was the best part. When it came to men, my standards were high – the taller they were, the better!
I had to get him to notice me, but how was I going to pull in a beard? ‘I know, I’ll use my greatest weak spot,’ I chuckled.
Waiting backstage for him to bustle past me again, I struggled to grab a prop out of my reach. ‘Um… excuse me,’ I smiled. Stepping out in front of him, I only came up to his elbow. ‘Could you reach that for me?’
‘Of course,’ he said, flashing me a cheeky grin. I know some people would think I was mad – a dwarf chatting up this strapping man, while wearing a beard – but I’d always been confident.
Even at senior school, I’d defied the bullies. ‘All right, Shorty?’ they’d sneered. ‘What’s it like down there?’
‘Whatever,’ I’d shrugged.
They’d soon realised their jibes didn’t upset me. After all, my parents William and Jackie had taught me to not let my height be an issue.
‘Show them you’re just as good as they are,’ they’d said. And I had. After joining stage school at the age of 14, I’d starred in my first film two years later.
I wasn’t bothered by my appearance, and it certainly didn’t stop me from flirting! ‘Thanks so much,’ I smiled, tucking my black hair behind my ear. ‘I’m Claire.’
‘Sam,’ he smiled.
After our first encounter, I made it my mission to bump into him backstage as much as possible. When he was dishing out microphones to the actors and connecting up battery packs, I was always first in line.
Soon, we were chatting away during our tea breaks. I learned Sam was from Watford, 140 miles from where I lived in Stoke-on-Trent, Staffordshire. He was single and had a nine-year-old son called Syd.
But I was running out of time if I wanted that snog under the mistletoe. There was only three weeks left before the final curtain call on the panto.
‘If I’m going to get my man, it has to be at the cast and crew party,’ I thought.
When I walked in, dressed in my favourite black dress and heels, Sam’s eyes lit up instantly. It was the sign I’d been waiting for.
After a couple of drinks, while we sat watching everyone dancing, I plucked up the courage to tell him how I felt. ‘I really like you,’ I said, looking into his brown eyes.
‘R-really?’ he gasped. ‘But, for weeks I’ve been so confused, trying to work out if you just wanted to be friends. I really like you, too.’
As he leaned in to kiss me, it seemed my Fairy Godmother had been listening… I’d bagged my Prince Charming. Over the next three weeks, we were inseparable. It took all my willpower not to pull him  into the costume cupboard for a kiss every five minutes!
I even introduced him to the kids. Caitlyn slipped her hand into his, dragging him off to watch a Hannah Montana DVD, while Bradley spent all evening chatting to him about computer games.
It was the happy ever after I’d been dreaming of. Apart from one thing… When the panto ended, me and Sam would only be able to see each other at weekends. The thought of being away from him broke my heart. So, I made a bold decision.
‘Fancy moving in with me?’ I asked, three months after we’d met. I’d already checked how the kids felt, and they were delighted.
‘I’ve hated being away from you,’ admitted Sam. ‘I’d love to.’
Okay, we got some funny looks when we strolled down the street holding hands – well, there was a 2ft height difference. But I’d never let it bother me before, and I wasn’t going to let it bother me now.
When I found out I was pregnant six months later, it felt like I was in a fairy tale. Then we started planning our first Christmas together…
Being four months pregnant, I wasn’t working and, like any true gentleman, Sam was looking after me. ‘Put your feet up,’ he said on Christmas Eve. ‘I’ll get us a drink.’
Returning with a bottle of champagne, he went on one knee and held out a diamond ring.
‘Will you marry me?’ he asked.
‘Yes!’ I squealed.
Our daughter Freya was born in the April, and me and Sam married in the October. Finally, in my white dress, I felt like a princess… and there wasn’t a beard in sight!
Claire Poulton, 39, Hanley, Staffordshire