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.