Naughton and Gold and the pea soup fogs

1947 witnessed a bitterly cold winter with deep snow, blizzards and frequent thick fog, particularly in the evening. This was commonly and appropriately termed the ‘pea soup’ fogs.

The snow was so heavy overnight that some mornings Dad was unable to leverage open the front door and was forced to open a window and climb out in order to shovel the snow away from the door and front walk.

The nights were beyond cold and the snow, frequent whilst performing at the Alexandra Theatre. Immediately at the close of curtain, I would return to the change-rooms, change from my costume, gather my things and run as fast as I could to catch the late train back to Walsall.

It was Charlie Naughton and Jimmy Gold who noticed my lone departure each night to the New Street Railway Station. With me looking even younger than I was, they considered it dangerous, so they took it upon themselves to see me onto the train every night. They were wonderful and I was always grateful for their care and company.

Although I travelled alone, Dad would always be waiting at the station to meet me at the other end. It seemed a long, tiring walk home in the snow with Dad punctuating our footsteps with “Hot drink and nice, warm bed waiting for you.”

However, I preferred the snowy nights to the pea soup fogs. These were so thick that I couldn’t get home. Visibility was negligent and thus, far too dangerous to venture out. Under these conditions, traffic would come to a halt. If available, a passenger would walk in front of the vehicle wielding a torch to light the way. In the midlands—Staffordshire—there are numerous canals, and people would mistake the line in their vision to be a path, stepping into them and drowning in their cold depths.

Upon opening the theatre doors and seeing only thick fog, I would telephone the Walsall Police, who would deliver the message to my parents that I could not return home. Sometimes, I would sleep in the theatre and other times I would go home with one of the local Babes in Birmingham.

Mum and Dad eventually had their own phone installed because of these fogs. Dad hated it because we were one of the first to own one, which meant a fairly regular request of “Can we use your ‘phone, please?” from anyone who knew of its existence.

Similarly, we were one of the first to own a television set—which Dad was quick to call a “pest” as our living room was frequently filled with an assortment of people wanting to watch this miracle of modern times.

As people purchased their own TV sets, Dad was often seen on roof-tops with the challenge of tuning them after installation. The owners would be calling out from open windows to say “Yes! That’s a picture!...Wait! No—it’s gone again…Now it’s fuzzy…” At other times, Dad would have a set in pieces, strewn over the kitchen table for repairs. The ‘pest’ had given him a steady stream of work.

Lehmiski Babes

In my thirteenth year, Isabel rushed me off to apply to the U.K. World Competition for Aspiring Actors and Dancers. Out of this, I was offered three scholarships in London. However, my father put his foot down and wouldn't allow it. When the letters arrived and Isabel tried to convince him, he was quite adamant.

"No! Absolutely not," he said. "She's too young."

Isabel found an alternative: The Studio School--a theatre school in Edgebaston, Birmingham, owned by a Madame Helena Lehmiski. I auditioned and successfully got in. After gaining permission from the Education Office, I left Wolverhampton Road State School and began my training to become a 'Lehmiski Babe'. As a result, my traditional schooling ended. My feelings about this were mixed. I was being urged along a path that was not of my choosing. I liked the idea of becoming a nurse or a teacher and felt concerned that I would not have this option without 'normal' schooling.

Once there, however,my mind was eased. Much to my relief, there was an option to specialise in teaching and, later, I was able to assist in the after-school teaching of overseas students.

It was, and remains so today, although it is now known as The Lehmiski Dance Academy, an excellent theatre school and Madame Lehmiski was nothing but passionate about her craft. Among others, Googie Withers had gone through under her tutorship before me and was, in that same year of 1945, starring in the movie 'Dead of Night', alongside Mervyn Johns, Michael Redgrave, Sally Ann Howes and Antony Baird. Since the 1930's, she had starred in movies including Alfred Hitchcock's 'The Lady Vanishes' as well as war movies in the forties.

Years later, I met Googie in Australia. Her husband was the theatre owner where we were performing Snow White and she wanted to introduce herself and wish me well in the first performance to be held there. After the initial introductions, I tested her reaction to two words: "Madame Lehmiski!"

She smiled. "Oh, Madame! Dear Madame!" she sighed. "What lovely days!"

It was a busy time for me at The Studio School, with study combined with rehearsals and performances, as well as Saturday classes at Shyre Hall. I travelled everywhere by bus or train, as we didn't own a car, but I remained close friends with Jean and Malcolm. This made easier by the fact that Jean only lived five houses down the street from us and I would see Malcolm when he visited his Grandmother, Mrs. Preece, next door.

I also remained in touch with Eileen Hall and had extra ballet lessons with her whenever time allowed. Although I had not long commenced training at The Studio School, it was Miss Hall who put me forward to successfully audition as Adele in an upcoming production of Jane Eyre.

This, at the age of 13, was my first introduction to a professional repertory company, The Fortescue Players. The production was to be held at the Wednesbury Hippodrome. Wednesbury, a town in Staffordshire and close to Walsall, was well-known for its repertory company and, as rehearsals began, I felt amazement and excitement at being involved with an all-adult company.

We were to open on a Monday and all rehearsals had been done so far without costumes. On the Saturday before, the costumes arrived in large baskets from London. My dress fitted perfectly but, as the final rehearsal was underway, in full costume, I began to panic.

It was minutes before curtain call. My entrance was to run on stage to Jane, who would be seated at a table ready to tutor Adele, me. I looked around me to see the actors walking about in their full costume, complete with wigs and make-up. I didn't recognise any of them, let alone the actor playing Jane. With time running out, I searched frantically for her backstage, but to no avail. "How was I going to make my entrance? I don't know which one is Jane?"

I grabbed the arm of a passing actor. "Where is Jane?" I asked, clearly anxious. To my immense relief, she quickly pointed her out. The rehearsals, along with the subsequent performances, were very exciting and went ahead successfully.

*    *    *    *

As a student of Madame Lehmiski, we received great training and became one of ten players in a range of performances, known as the Lehmiski Babes. We were listed on the programs as such and work was frequent thanks to Lehmiski's reputation for the provision of talent. Older 'babes' went on to become members of the 'Lehmiski Ladies', also printed likewise on the programs.

I loved the theatre rehearsals with Madame, although she was strict. There were a number of other teachers at the school, but it was Madame's entrance into a room that made us 'stand up very straight', as she would often command in the beginning. She had soon gained this reaction without needing words.

The days began with a 9am start. This was one hour of ballet in the Main Studio, which had once been the mansion's ballroom. Through French windows, we had a commanding view of the garden and, in the Summer, we could watch the squirrels playing in the beautiful grounds. Often, Madame's cat would join us, basking in the sun slanting through the tall windows and observing us with the regal poise, and just a little arrogance, that cats do so well.

In Winter at 9am, the room was bitterly cold. My hands and feet were always cold and often, doing point work, my toes would start to bleed.

Madame's strict, yet effective, ways also extended to our bodies. If  any of us gained weight, Madame would let us know in no uncertain words. Later, during my time at The Studio, I returned after a short convalescence from a car accident. I gained a little weight but felt quite confident that it wasn't much. But Madame had a different opinion and ordered me to show her the contents of my lunch-box so that she could be sure of what I was eating, and perhaps confiscate anything that didn't fit the bill. She then ordered me to do 'walks' on my backside, up and down the length of the ballroom.

I loved my time at The Studio School and loved rehearsing for shows. Madame believed in sending us to work in places outside the studio for experience, including how to behave amongst professional actors and repertory companies. Among the first of these, I was sent to join an opera company which needed four girls to join the chorus.

For two weeks it was great to be on the stage with real opera singers and to hear them all tune up before the performance. We also appeared in a Revue, danced in a Ballet Recital and did a few special performances at elegant balls.

My first performance as a Lehmiski Babe was in Simple Simon, held at the Alexandra Theatre in Birmingham in 1947. Wendy Toye was the Principal Girl, playing the part of Princess Diana, and I liked her for her kindness and warmth of character.


Naughton and Gold, the comedy double act of Charlie Naughton and Jimmy Gold, were also part of the performance and were to take me under their wing in successive shows. They were also part of The Crazy Gang formed in the early 1930s, along with Chesney Allen, Bud Flanagan, Jimmy Nervo and Teddy Knox, and went on to become the longest serving comedy duo in British theatre history, still performing with the Crazy Gang in 1960, after having begun in comedy in 1908 in British Music Halls.

In 1947 through to 1948, I was a Lehmiski Babe in Babes in the Wood, with Naughton and Gold as principals. Held also at Birmingham’s Alexandra Theatre, the season lasted for about 16 weeks, with the New Years Eve performance almost clashing with my role as Miss New Year at the Walsall Town Hall. The curtain came down at 10.30 pm, which meant I had to make haste to get to the other show. Fortunately, the Mayor of Walsall's car was provided to me for this reason.

The best part of these New Year's Eve events was the Mayor's car. The driver would knock on our door and we, my mother and I, would be transported like royalty to and from the Town Hall. On one such evening, following the show, I was to be taken home alone as Isabel hadn't attended. I must have looked much younger than my 13 years. When the uniformed chauffeur arrived and asked for me, the stage-door keeper, swept his eyes from me to the fancy Mayor's car, and said "Now I've seen everything!"

www.its-behind-you.com/gallery310.html (Program poster for Babes in the Wood, 1947/8 at The Alexandra Theatre)

http://www.grandmemories.co.uk/Memory.aspx?MemoryId=2857 (Program details for Babes in the Wood, December 1948 and photograph of the Grand Theatre, Wolverhampton.)