A new pantomime and a new song, By Tracey Vale

It was one of those beautiful, clear days that enhance a belief that there is so much promise in the air. A warm, soft breeze played around us and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky as Daphne Korner, Shirley Summers and I made our way down to the beach for a photo shoot.

On the back of record numbers at the Ranelagh Theatre, Will Hammer had made his announcement that all three of us were to be principals in his popular upcoming pantomime season. I was to play one of my favourite roles as Cinderella at the New Royal in Bournemouth. I had always wanted to play the part and was so excited to have been chosen for it, and especially as it was one of Will Hammer’s productions.

Shirley was chosen for Jack and the Beanstalk, to tour at the Hippodrome in Ipswich and Daphne was to perform in Aladdin, at The Grand Theatre in Croydon. Both had other pantomimes booked in to see them to the end of the year while Paul and I had Chesney Allen continuing to work behind the scenes with new bookings. We were also secure in the knowledge that our roles in new performances, pantomimes and summer shows would continue.

“It’s your versatility,” Chesney kept telling us, whether we needed reminding or not. “Your singing and dancing,” he said, looking at me before continuing. “The puppet act and your abilities as comic feeds.” A number of our friends and colleagues were envious of our continuous work on the stage and I could see that the variety we offered was now an essential component for actors to enjoy a steady stream of work.

"Holiday Highlights" moved on to Knightstone Theatre, Weston-super-mare. We performed here for two weeks, the end of which also marked the end of the summer season. We then began rehearsals with the British War Office, known as Combined Services Entertainment Tours, as organised by Chesney Allen.

The C.S.E. tours usually took a group of five or six actors, singers and/or comedians. Their requirements were for a well-known star, which in this case was Arthur English, a soubrette, a pianist, a classical singer, a comic and a feed. In our case we were able to present the puppet act and I would sing as the soubrette. Both Paul and I would also act as feeds to the comics.

Our first War Office tour was known as the '14000 Miles Tour' in the press write-ups but was officially titled "It's English" and featured the top rated comedian, Arthur English. It was to take in Kenya, Aden and Nairobi, East Africa. We were to leave on October 25, 1956, following two weeks of rehearsals.

British War Office, Whitehall, London.
Photograph courtesy of Wikipedia commons

We stayed in London for the rehearsals, to take place in the British War Office in Whitehall, a beautiful old building of grand architecture. Looking up at it, as we crossed the road for our first rehearsal, I thought it looked magnificent. It was an imposing, five-story building complete with huge turrets and statues of horses appearing to leap out from the top floor. Situated on a corner and taking up most of the block, the building was fitted out with everything a performer could need. We were used to pokey church halls as rehearsal spaces, so these facilities were fantastic to us.

We were ushered upstairs to the practice studios, passing many such rooms as well as others filled with costumes. Finally, we reached the big studio, complete with resplendent grand piano. A man stood hunched, studying a spread of papers fanned across the back of the piano. 

Alistair McHarg looked up from the music sheet he’d been studying and smiled. Walking towards us he extended an arm and introduced himself. “Wonderful to meet you both. I’m Alistair McHarg, the pianist, and I’ll be touring with you,” he said warmly and with a strong Scottish accent that seemed to bellow in the airiness around them.

I didn't know it then, but this first meeting with Alistair McHarg was to change my career as a singer. Having cut my teeth on the cheery songs of pantomime and the related dance items, little did I know that I was inexperienced with the type of performance required of the War Office. It was during these rehearsals that I realised again how much Chesney Allen relied upon and trusted in our versatility and had great faith in our ability to adapt.

“Have you got any songs with you?” Alistair asked, once our introductions were over. Paul had stepped aside, finding a window sill to perch on while we discussed what I could sing.

Spreading my arms and hands out slightly, I said “No,” and explained the types of songs I’d been singing and the performances. He looked a little doubtful and, walking back to his sheet music on the piano, rifled through it before slapping a page back down decisively.

Turning back to me, he said, "Alright. I'll need to hear ya so choose a song ya know well and sing it." He sat down on the piano stool to listen.

Without hesitation, I chose one I considered suitable for entertaining the troops. I sang Irving Berlin's  'Top Hat, White Tie and Tails', made famous by Fred Astaire in the 1935 comedy, 'Top Hat'.

"I just got an invitation through the mails:

"Your presence requested this evening, it's formal
A top hat, a white tie and tails"
Nothing now could take the wind out of my sails
Because I'm invited to step out this evening
With top hat, white tie and tails

"I'm puttin' on my top hat
Tyin' up my white tie
Brushin' off my tails...."

At the end of the chorus, Alistair waved a hand in the air and stood up. Walking closer, he said “You’re going to be performing for the troops overseas. They’re not going to want that. Stand there. Listen,” he sat down at the piano and, playing along, sang the soulful, 'I'll Get By (As Long as I Have You)', a song written by Roy Turk and made famous by Harry James in 1944, followed by re-releases by Bing Crosby and, later, Shirley Bassey, among others.

"I’ll get by as long as I have you
Though there’ll be rain and darkness too
I’ll not complain, I’ll see it through
Though you may be far away, it’s true
Say, what care I dear, I'll get by as long as I have you..."

“I've never sung anything like that,” I said. It was a new venture for me to not be the ‘song and dance girl’ and was to feel quite different to stand on stage in a ball gown to sing.

“You will be in the next hour!” He said and, with that, we set to work. He chose a number of songs to suit my voice and, from thereon, we became firm friends. He was to teach me so much.

Years later, after my move to Australia, we met again in the Channel 9 Studios.

"Stars on Strings" in Summer Shows By Tracey Vale

Married life was a happy and busy time. We were fortunate to have Chesney Allen as our agent and equally fortunate to have been introduced to Will Hammer. Work was booked in and our way ahead looked rosy and stable, unlike that of many actors struggling against the popularity of the small screen.

I adored Paul and believed that he adored me. We were a team, having made our way back from Number 3 theatres, also known as ‘the dumps’, and continued to work together in a combined goal of stage success. We stayed in cheap theatrical ‘digs’ or caravans in those early years and travelled by train as we didn’t own a car. Many theatricals travelled by train, so it wasn’t unusual to bump into fellow actors while switching trains at Crewe, or similar. We’d wave greetings on passing and continue to haul our basket, loaded to the brim with puppets, costumes and sound equipment, from train to train.

We were not well paid but it didn’t bother us. “We’re very happy poor,” I would say to Paul as I thrust my arms into a bucket of clothes in warm, soapy water in an effort to do our washing. We were doing what we loved and knew that we would eventually ‘make it’.

The first of Will Hammer’s Summer Season, billed as “Holiday Highlights” was held at the Winter Garden Theatre in Eastbourne and was produced by Mildred Challenger. The bill featured Sonny Farrar, “5 feet of fun and a banjo” and the popular comedian, Fred Hugh. Also featured, apart from Paul and myself, were John Griffin, Daphne Korner, Victor Dale, Shirley Summers, Terence Delaney, Eleanor Beam’s Young Ladies and Terry Graves.

Paul and I acted as feeds to the comics in the sketches ‘All Scotch’, ‘Rhythm on the Range’ and ‘Easter Parade’, in which I also danced and sang. During the show I sang a duet with Terry Delaney and, later, Paul and I featured our puppet act ‘Stars on Strings’. It was a full night of fun, laughs and general entertainment and we were all well received by our audience. The show was featured nightly at 8.15, running for a week before moving on to Felixstowe.

The morning after our first night in Eastbourne, the paper ran a glowing review and featured a photo taken of the Easter Parade scene, a lavish tribute to the early 1900s. Paul was always quick to collect the paper and proceeded to read it out to me over our morning coffees.

“’The first edition of “Holiday Highlights” which opened on the Monday evening at the Winter Garden was full of surprises,’” he read, smiling. “’Suddenly, without warning, a highlight would shine out in unexpected fashion and draw rounds of applause.’”

He continued, but not before glancing over at me as if to say this is our bit. “’The most outstanding of these was Daphne Korner, a coloratura soprano. Then Joan Sharratt, with every suggestion of a lively soubrette, suddenly switched into a puppeteer and, a turn or two later, threw in a few steps of ballet dancing.’” He sped over the rest, giving me a summary of the remainder of the first half of the show, finishing with the mention of several rounds of applause for the Rhythm of the Range act.

“It’s a good review,” I said, smiling back at him as I cleared away the breakfast dishes.

“Wait just a minute—I get a mention here!” He cleared his throat and straightened his back to sit a little taller in the chair. “’After a long interval, Fred Hugh, in charge of a glee party, interrupted by Sonny Farrar, brought back laughter but it was not until Joan and Paul Sharratt produced their singing puppets, culminating with Archie Andrews, that the house was really sitting up again.’” He beamed. “How’s that?”

“Very good. We’ve come a long way from those ‘dumps’!” I kissed him on the top of the head and continued clearing up. “Anything in the other paper?” I asked, seeing that he’d put the first aside, but not before cutting the article and picture out, and had skipped to the entertainment section of the other.

“A small piece—but a good one, all the same,” he answered without looking up. “It reads ‘Last night they were generous to a live, vigorous and slickly produced performance by a company already well-drilled’,” he paused, skipping a few superfluous lines. “’They are in the main a youthful company. Exceptions are the two leading comics Sonny Farrar—an alacritous dwarf of a man with a winsome look and a boxful of mannerisms—and Fred Hugh, his phrenetic foil, who has an extremely successful time in a “single” just before the interval.’”

“Oh and here’s our mention,” he continued. “’A novelty number, skilfully staged and lighted to give a third dimensional effect saw Joan and Paul Sharratt give a charming and evocative display of puppet handling. Especially good was a synchronised dancing routine by three can-can marionettes to a gramophone record.’” He beamed again, before clipping the second article and adding it to the former.

                                      *        *        *        *

“SNAP, RHYTHM AND ZEST ACROSS THE FOOTLIGHTS” was the headline promoting Will Hammer’s Summer Revue, ‘Holiday Highlights’ with its move to another of his seaside theatres, this time at Ranelagh Theatre in Felixstowe.

The show was to feature our puppet act once again and we’d just received the news that an additional puppet we had ordered was ready for collection. Having already rehearsed the puppet’s part, we were ready to include him in the new show. Our puppets were hand-carved and made by Roy Snowdon. The new puppet was given a mention in the article.

“Billy Daniels, the coloured singer, is a new puppet making his first appearance in Joan and Paul Sharratt’s impressive act, “Stars on Strings”.”

The article and other efforts did much to promote the show, with record numbers achieved. “Well seasoned with fun, music and dancing, the second edition of “Holiday Highlights” at the Ranelagh Theatre should be much to the liking of holiday-makers,” it read. The article went on to describe the music, themes, costumes and lighting, painting a very positive picture.

“One of the outstanding features is the song scene, “Minstrel Memories”. Producer Mildred Challenger’s creative ability has given this number an ingenious modern touch. It has snap and rhythm and altogether is a colourful and exciting presentation in which many of the popular tunes of the South are sung with zest by a well-drilled company, whose enthusiasm soon gets across the footlights to the audience.

“In marked contrast are “Waltztime”, with its quiet charm and graceful movement, and “Romany Rendezvous”, with its gay and romantic gypsy atmosphere. The costumes are most pleasing to the eye and there is good stage lighting to enhance the effect of the imposing sets. Members of the company who sing and dance so engagingly in one or other of these two numbers are Daphne Korner, John Griffin, Shirley Summers, Joan and Paul Sharratt, Terry Delaney and Eleanor Beam’s Six Highlights.”

The show at Ranelagh had a slightly different programme from the previous “Holiday Highlights” at Eastbourne’s Winter Garden. The complete company was on stage for the introduction and second segment. The third, “Romany Rendezvous” featured comedic sketches, singing and dancing from Paul and myself as well as Daphne Korner, John Griffin, Shirley Summers and The Six Highlights.

Paul featured in the eighth segment, a comedy routine, where he rudely interrupted Sonny Farrar. They are also accompanied by Fred Hughes before the complete company goes on stage once again for the musical number “Minstrel Memories”.

A number of segments followed the interval including our “Stars on Strings”, complete with the new addition. The segment “Waltztime” also featured the entire company.

The comic performances were also included in the article to entice potential audiences. “There is a strong vein of comedy running throughout the show, and a high spot is reached with “Phun in a Pharmacy”. Fred Hugh is seen as a chemist experimenting with original ideas of salesmanship, which produce most disconcerting consequences for Sonny Farrar as his long-suffering victim, who has to demonstrate the efficacy of a whole range of cures from a mud pack to castor oil!”

Two days before the show was to begin, we were approached by a newspaper to feature us and our puppet act in the entertainment section titled ‘Echoes of the week’. Naturally, we agreed and were duly interviewed. In other interviews I’d noticed Paul subtly taking over, even where the questions were directed at me. His other trick, as had happened more than once before, was to mislead, exaggerate or lie in some way so as to promote himself. He would wink at me afterwards and say “All in the name of marketing” or “It’s all about business and perceptions” or some such similar wording.

On this occasion, the interviewer began by asking us about the puppets themselves, who they were modelled after and what part they would play in the performance. The article began in this vein.

“The Beverley Sisters will be appearing at the Ranelagh Theatre next week. Not in person, let me hasten to add, but through the medium of puppetry. The sisters are among a number of famous personalities in the entertainment world who are being introduced by Joan and Paul Sharratt to the patrons of “Holiday Highlights” this Summer. Billy Daniels, the coloured singer, Alf and Bob Pearson and Max Bygraves and Archie Andrews are included among their ‘Stars on Strings’.”

Paul then went into great detail about the technical difficulty and skill required when the interviewer asked about the technique of manipulating the puppets. This resulted in the article reporting that “no fewer than 20 strings have to be pulled to bring Max Bygraves and Archie Andrews to “life” in their song and tap dance number”. On average, nine to 10 strings were attached to each puppet.

Further to this, he exaggerated about the number of puppets we had lined up for the show and that we had 100 puppets to choose from. The article then stated “Paul and Joan have quite an impressive “family” of puppets and some 30 of these will take to the stage at the Ranelagh this summer”. The truth was that we could only afford the few puppets we had and almost all of these were to be in the show—a total of eight with a couple of spares. This didn’t sit well with me as surely he could see that the proof was in the show—there were nowhere near 30 puppets featured in our act—but, alas, I kept quiet and went along with it as I always had. It meant keeping the peace and maintaining that equilibrium of mood and happiness for the other person or people involved, something I had learned as a child and something which had become a larger part of my self conscious than I may have realised.

It was Paul’s voice that continued to dominate the article, a bleating of his ability and knowledge and, in so doing, my part or presence was considerably overshadowed and left primarily in the background. I didn’t mind this so much at the time as I loved to see him happy and felt comfortable in my own experience and ability to date. In short, I wasn’t the type to ‘brag’. However, there still remained an ounce of discomfit that I kept to myself.

The wording of the continuing article made it sound, thanks to Paul, as though I had been the pupil while he was the one to lead us to a certain level of popularity. He would never allow it to be known that this was the other way around and that I had adapted to his idea of a puppet show in order to encourage him and to lead the way into co-working on the stage.

“Of course, audiences in theatres all over the country have already met the puppets and many thousands saw them “over the air” when they were televised from the Radio Show at Earl’s Court last year. Paul told me this week,” the article read, following this description of our popularity that we really had no way of knowing. “That he learned the rudiments of working puppets while at school and taught Joan the art when, after having previously been on the stage as individual artistes, they “went into partnership” in 1952.”

Further still, the article went on to say that Paul had made most of the puppets himself. I don’t know why he felt it necessary to lie about this but I could hardly correct him in front of the reporter. “Incidentally,” it read, “Paul has made several of the puppets himself but in some cases the heads and hands of the “little people” are the work of a Rochester artist.”

An additional programme also featured at the Ranelagh Theatre, known as the ‘third edition’ of the show. This one featured 20 segments compared to the previous 17. Paul featured in one of the additional segments, “What’s Yours?”, along with Fred Hugh, Terry Delaney, Sonny Farrar and Daphne Korner.

As in the first edition of the show in Eastbourne, I was featured in a duet with Terry Delaney, singing “There’s Something in That”. The pianist, Victor Dale, featured in a solo, as does Daphne Korner. Our “Stars on Strings” were again featured in the second half of the show and both Paul and I also featured with the cast in the musical segment, “In Lilac Time”.

Following the first night of this programme, Paul had already cut out a new review and was bursting with enthusiasm to read it out to me when I sat down to breakfast. “It’s another good review,” he said, smiling and taking a sip of his tea before beginning to read the short article.

“Good Holiday Fun at Felixtowe,” he read the title with flourish. “Paris and London are the settings for two effective numbers in the new edition of this spirited summer show. There are colourful and tuneful scenes, pleasing both to the eye and ear.

“The Parisian number is gay and vivacious, a highlight being the saucy song and dance by Shirley Summers assisted by the Eleanor Beam’s Young Ladies.

“”The London We Love” ranges effectively from the romantic to the boisterous and mirrors several facets of London life, including the flower girl, costers, the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace and the Teddy Boy with a spot of good fun from Sonny Farrar as a pert barrow boy and Fred Hugh as a jovial policeman.”

At this point, Paul raised his eyebrows and looked at me with a happy smirk before reading on. “In their engaging puppet act, “Stars on Strings” Joan and Paul Sharratt introduce Eartha Kitt and the Beverley Sisters. Songs by Daphne Korner and John Griffin prove very popular with the audience and Terence Delaney is joined by Joan Sharratt in an appealing song and dance “There’s Something in That”.

“Victor Dale, the show’s pianist, takes the stage for a solo spot while Sonny Farrar shows how expert he is on the banjo with Rimsky Korsakov’s “Flight of the Bumble Bee”.

“Altogether the show is bright and entertaining holiday fare and is strong in comedy with several well presented sketches.”” He finished, beaming. “Now, let’s get down to the beach and meet the others.” He got up from the table and dropped his plate noisily into the sink, before rinsing his hands and waiting expectantly for me to finish and ‘jump to’.

It was wonderful to be performing in these seaside locations. The beach featured enormously in our ‘off time’ and was also used for photography shoots for the local papers. Today, we were heading down for some company, fun and relaxation with the rest of the cast from the show. It was a vast pebbled beach with sandy areas just at the point where the waves broke onto the shore and was to be the scene, a few weeks later, for a photo shoot following Will Hammer’s announcements of his new principals in his upcoming pantomimes.

William Hammer By Tracey Vale

William Hammer, formerly known as William Hind, had taken over the West Cliff Theatre in Clacton on Sea in 1934, also the same year he invested in film. This is where we were to perform in the next Summer Season. He owned a number of seaside theatres, as well as assorted businesses, and directed the troupe Will Hammer’s Players. As a former comedian, he had a passion for the stage and for theatre entertainment.

Reading about him in a theatre paper, I discovered that he was born in Hammersmith, where he still resides, it said, and took his stage name from his birthplace. The paper went on to say that he owned 12 live theatres, mainly in seaside towns, and was Chairman of three film companies. His other business interests include jewellery, a business once shared with his brother until it was divided, and four cycle shops as well as other areas of retail including barber shops.

He had always enjoyed cycling and had gained a couple of cycling records in his youth. Reading on, I discovered that he was often seen organising cycle races at dawn and his leisure time was spent playing golf or relaxing on his property, where he has a kennel of 14 Borzois dogs and a stable of six horses.

It was to this property that Paul and I were invited to spend a couple of weekends during the first season of Cinderella. Will hammer was a delightful, almost shy man who took a liking to Paul and I. Members of the cast that he liked would be invited to his mansion and servants would greet us and tell us we were in the blue room or the red room and so on. It was just fantastic. He was so kind and so generous. 

It was a beautiful mansion of unbelievable luxury surrounded by manicured gardens and situated in the country. Will Hammer also leased two mansions on the River Thames, one of which became his premiere studios for his horror movies.

It was also in 1934 that Will established the film company, Hammer productions, based in a three-room suite of offices in Regent Street, London. His first film, The Public Life of Henry the Ninth, concluded production in January the following year.

It was around this time that he met the Peruvian-born Argentinean, Enrique Carreras, a former cinema owner, leading to a joint partnership and the establishment of Exclusive Films, a film distribution company.

Hammer produced four films between 1936 and 1937 , all distributed through Exclusive, but soon faced bankruptcy with a slump in the British film industry. Exclusive continued to distribute films for surviving companies.

At the time of our involvement with Will Hammer, he’d been working successfully on horror films. Following demobilisation, William’s son, Anthony and Enrique’s son, James, were working with him. James had resurrected Hammer Film Productions following World War Two with a number of short ‘fill in’ film segments. Hammer Film Productions was thus now the film branch of Exclusive.

In the horror genre, Hammer found overwhelming success with the film The Quatermass Experiment in 1955, soon to be followed by its sequel, Quatermass 2 in 1957. Between the fifties and sixties, Hammer Film Productions was to dominate the genre with considerable financial success and backing from U.S. sponsors, including Warner Bros. Films were to include various adaptations and sequels of Frankenstein, including The Curse of Frankenstein and The Revenge of Frankenstein, as well as variations of Dracula and more. The company was to continue with horror films into the eighties.

Also just prior to the time of our introduction to William Hammer, he was involved with the film noir genre, predominantly featuring American stars. Between 1952 and 1955 Hammer Productions had produced well over a dozen films in the category.

*        *        *        *

Pat Hammer

A weekend spent on the Hammer estate was like stepping back in time. Travelling down a long, sweeping driveway amidst equally sweeping lawns and landscaped gardens, we were greeted by the grand mansion ahead of us. Once at the door, a maid met us, leading us into an airy hall. After introducing our arrival to her employers, she ushered us into the ‘blue room’. Our luggage was taken to our rooms and my meagre selection was unpacked. My one evening gown, to be worn at dinner, was freshly ironed and hung, waiting for me.

Meals were of generous extravagance, with waiting staff to serve and whisk away our dishes in readiness for the next course. Mornings were easy-going, with no expectations on early rising. We made our way to the dining room, once ready, and were greeted by a huge spread of hot and cold dishes, fresh fruit and juice, coffee or tea.

The days were spent languorously on the estate, spending time with Will, his wife, Pat, and their young daughter, Susan. We walked the grounds and wondered at how life would be to live in such grandeur and with so much beauty and space.

Susan Hammer

On one particular weekend at the Hammer estate, we had all lost track of time until one of us realised that we would surely be late for curtain call. We scurried to gather our belongings, with the help of the maid. The theatre was some considerable distance from the estate and we were accompanied by Pat in one of Hammer’s cars, knowing that we couldn’t make it before the understudy was called upon to get dressed in my steed.

It is a requirement that theatre actors must be in the theatre 30 minutes before curtain call. If absent, the actor was replaced by an understudy. Disembarking from the car, we high-tailed it into the theatre, racing down the corridor to the dressing rooms. We were so late that there would barely be time for me to dress and prepare before I had to be on the stage.

To my dismay, my understudy was dressed and ready to go on. The stage door man, a stickler for the rules, was ready to report us when Pat Hammer, who had followed us in, spoke up behind us. “Joan and Paul have been our guests,” she said, authoritatively. With that, all was restored and I made haste to be ready in time.

Marriage to Paul, By Tracey Vale

I saw the New Year of 1953 in without being at The Grand Theatre, Wolverhampton or the Alexandra Theatre in Birmingham. I had learnt so much from my time in those theatres, along with the privilege of having Madame Lehmiski’s watchful eye and guidance and learning from some of the best in the field.

I remember people like Norman Wisdom, who played the part of Buttons in Cinderella with perfection in every move. He was dedicated to his craft and most mornings he’d be in the theatre, either writing scripts or music, or playing the drums or trumpet. He was a kind and genuine person and contributed to my learning as did so many I had the fortune to perform with.

Early on, Wendy Toye would help us  to “Be professional, on and off the stage!” This was also a sentiment strongly assuaged by Madame, who would constantly remind us.

Before every performance, she would say “Remember—you are a Lehmiski Lady! So, behave like a lady, and be professional at all times.”

There were so many other fine actors and performers that I was fortunate to learn from and who took me under their wing, not the least of whom were Naughton and Gold. Then, there were those who were not so helpful—but they, fortunately, were few! When I was first sent to The Grand Theatre for two weeks with a repertory company, I was told to introduce myself to the Stage Manager and to involve myself completely in all the workings of the theatre so as to learn as much as possible.

Upon introducing myself, the Stage Manager said “I am so glad you’re here! Would you be so kind as to go to the Theatre Manager and ask him for the Grid Key?”

“Of course,” I responded and immediately went to do as I’d been asked. First port of call—the Theatre Manager, but he didn’t have it, suggesting someone else. I went to every person I could find but no-one had the Grid Key. Each person politely sent me to another until I realised I’d been had and there was no such thing as a Grid Key!

I wondered, now, what the next few years in theatre would have in store for me as well as for Paul.

                                                                        *    *    *    *

Dick Whittington, the play I’d agreed to do with Paul employed as Assistant Stage Manager, was to be performed in Number Two theatres. I was accustomed to the size, style and prestige of Number One theatres and had been performing in them for most of my life. I knew my life in theatre would be a little different with Paul by my side, as there were sacrifices to be made in the beginning, but I was happy to be with him.

I was playing principal roles and was often on tour throughout 1953, ’54 and ’55. These were happy, fun times, especially mixing with comedians from the shows. It was during this time that we met the very funny, Ugly Dave Grey, who was around the same age as us, and toured all over England with him. It was the beginning of a friendship that would last for the rest of our lives.

Paul was making a few appearances on stage whenever there was an opening. He was also developing an act involving puppets, believing that it was something that would get him regularly onto the stage and something we could do together. He’d learnt puppetry at school and had a few puppets already in his possession. These were, however, very small and would not be good or significant enough for theatre.

He wanted to replicate an act he’d seen on stage in a nearby theatre. A young lady was in full view of the audience as she manipulated string puppets. “These string puppets are what we need,” he said excitedly. “We must buy a good-sized string puppet to practise an act.”

I wanted to work with Paul and encourage ways in which this could happen but when he’d first expressed a desire to perform together in a puppet act, I wasn’t so sure. I was used to being on the stage and had just had a string of principal roles—I wasn’t keen to stand behind a wooden partition, pulling the strings of puppets who would then be the ‘principals’ of the act.

This idea of being on full view was certainly better—but, still, the puppets were the focal points. What to do? I didn’t want to quash his enthusiasm but I had to think of some way around it. I wondered if we could manipulate a puppet to play an instrument as this would allow the entry of music into the act—which meant I would be able to dance.

“Can we get a puppet to play a piano?” I asked Paul. “That way we could have it playing to recorded music and I can dance as an accompaniment to the puppet.” Paul loved the idea and this signalled the beginning of my becoming a puppeteer. Within a very short time, we had the puppets made—a pianist, two skeletons, a violinist, an opera singer and another singing puppet that had an uncanny resemblance to Eartha Kitt. It was not as difficult as I thought to make the puppets perform. Almost before we knew it, we had an act: Joan and Paul Sharratt and Their Puppets.

Between performing, we spent many long hours working on our act until we felt it was good enough to advertise in ‘The Stage’, an actor’s paper. From this, we gained an offer to perform our act as part of the Summer Season at Clacton-on-Sea.

Very excited, we wrote back immediately, stressing that we would be of great value. We sent information about our past experience, including that I was a dancer, singer and actor, otherwise known as a Soubrette, and had worked in many Number One theatres. Paul included the words that he had ‘studied acting’, which, he was quick to explain to me, he had effectively done by studying performances and the workings of the theatre from the wings, but they were not to know that it didn’t mean formal study. Within a week, we had our reply—we had been accepted for the Summer Season. Amid great excitement, we signed the contract but this did not specify the theatre we’d be working in. This deliberate omission became clear once we arrived.

Clacton on Sea had long been synonymous with resort-style amusements and summer fun. A theatre stage was set up on the beach as early as 1912, row boats decorated the shore beside the pier with all of its amusements, theatres, dancing and ballrooms. The town itself sported hotels, restaurants, a bowling green, the bandstand with its rotunda and rows and balcony levels of seating and an open-air pool for sailing toy sailboats. It was densely populated with Pier Avenue lined primarily with four and five-storey buildings, sporting pavement vendors at their frontages and leading to the popular pier and beach. With the number of holiday-makers and fun to be had, the air was thick with a sense of festiveness.

The pier came into view long before we passed the manicured Promenade Gardens on the esplanade road of Clacton on Sea. Halfway along its impressive length was the roller coaster, known as Steel Stella, despite it being constructed from scaffolding and timber. Children fossicked for shells and crabs under the pier and the wide, sloping beach was plentifully filled with holiday-makers lounging on neatly-rowed deck chairs, with children nearby building sandcastles or running in and out of the sea.

An expanse of buildings lined the first third of the pier then, beyond the roller coaster, an open length of jetty before a small structure at its end.

This is where we were to perform—at the far end of the pier. Here, there was the Open Air Theatre, complete with a stage and deck chairs for the audience. Alongside this was a small theatre called The Jolly Roger, where our first rehearsal was to take place.

It was at this rehearsal that we discovered that we were a company of ten, including a pianist and stage manager. Having been used to large productions, this came as quite a shock, and especially with the realisation that any back-up music would come solely from the pianist as there was nothing else on offer. Having discovered this, I glanced sideways at Paul with lifted eyebrows, as if to say “I can’t believe it! This isn’t what we thought it would be. Is this really what we want?” This limited style of production was all new to me. But Paul didn’t seem to notice and continued smiling as he listened to the producer.

“You will be working in both theatres for the Summer Season—the Open Air Theatre and this,” the producer gestured with his arm toward the tiny stage. “The Jolly Roger. Morning and afternoon shows will be performed outside. Evenings will be here in The Jolly Roger.”

Costumes were to be worn for the evening shows, while the outdoor shows were considerably more informal and didn’t require costumes. In the case of inclement weather, day performances would be moved to the indoor theatre. That night, sleep eluded me.

Paul and I had booked ourselves into a local boarding house, a short distance out of town. We purchased two second hand bikes from a furniture and bric-a-brac dealer in Clacton as, without a car in our possession, we decided to cycle back and forth from the theatre.

Shortly after the season began, we received a letter from Paul’s mother informing us that she was sending her sister to visit us. We were so busy with day and night performances as well as initial rehearsals, that we thought it odd that she should want to visit while we were working.

When she arrived, it became apparent that she was checking up on us as she surveyed our separate rooms without hiding her look of satisfaction. I queried mum by telephone and she said that the family were concerned that we were ‘living in sin’, and with Paul being from a ‘good Catholic family’.

“I told her not to worry,” Mum said, of Paul’s mother. “I said ‘Joan is a good girl’ but they had to find out for themselves.” Aunt Lucy dutifully reported back that we had separate bedrooms and were ‘behaving’. And we were….

Despite my initial feelings of disheartenment, the Summer Season at Clacton was great fun. Paul loved acting on stage and was equally enthusiastic about learning more and immersing himself with lines to memorise and the new challenge that this wrought.

He took mental notes on the comedian’s performances and the audience reaction to certain lines from the Olde Time Music Hall theme, which played a part in the performances in the Jolly Roger. Many years later he was to adopt one of these introductory lines as his personal catch-phrase and one that he became well-known for: “Brought to you at E-NOUR-mous expense…”, as well as other sections from the Clacton scripts.

We accepted another season at Clacton—and I’m glad we did, as two things arose from it. One of the directors at another theatre had seen my performance and asked me to sing on Radio BBC in conjunction with a program they were doing on Summer Theatre. Mum was very excited and wasted no time in telling the family and all her neighbours to listen in, which, apparently they did.

The second occurrence changed our working lives. Following one of the shows, a man approached me with a compliment. “A very nice performance, Joan?” he said, smiling but with a slightly reserved, professional air. “Do you have an agent?”

“No,” was my simple reply.

He handed me a business card and said, eyebrows lifted in a way that didn’t question but commanded. “When you’re in London, contact me.” With that, he turned on his heel and left. I’m not even sure if he heard my ‘yes’. I watched him disappear, then looked down at the card. ‘Chesney Allan, Theatrical Agent’. The Chesney Allan! I thought, barely containing a grin. Ill health had meant he’d had to give up his acting career.

It was with great excitement that I showed the card to Paul, whose face lit up to mirror my own. “This means we can work in better theatres!” I exclaimed.

We were already booked to perform the pantomime, Mother Goose with the same company we had worked with for Dick Whittington. This was to follow our Summer Season at Clacton on Sea and we had also planned to fit in our wedding in between shows.

                                                                         *    *     *    *

It was 1955. Rehearsals were finished and Mother Goose was underway. I was Principal Girl, playing the part of the Princess while Paul worked off-stage and continued with his puppet show. We had also put the finishing touches on our wedding plans.

  

We married in the morning at St. Patrick's Church in Walsall, had a wedding luncheon at a hotel in town and we were to be back in the theatre that evening--no honeymoon for these newly weds!

The cast of Mother Goose had travelled the hour's journey to attend our wedding, arriving on a coach they had borrowed. I remember biting my lip in an effort to stop myself giggling along with the sounds of muffled laughter coming from the Chorus Girls as Dad walked me down the isle. They knew my secret--under my pristine, oyster satin gown, I wore an array of colourful net petticoats, all belonging to the girls from the show, in order to achieve greater fullness in the skirt.

On top of this, I half expected the goose to leap out at me, as the man playing this part had threatened to wear his full costume to wedding! Fortunately, he didn't, but he gave me a 'gotcha' look, all the same.

But that wasn't the last of it--there was, unbeknownst to me, some tomfoolery to come. They were comics, after all, so I should have expected it! After the wedding and once all the photos outside the church had been completed, the two comics swept me up and kidnapped me onto the coach, while Paul travelled to the reception in the car that had been organised for us.

It was soon time to return for the evening’s show of Mother Goose. Following the performance and directly after the final scene, the man playing the part of the Dame prepared to make an announcement to the audience. Catching my eye and gesturing toward me at the same time, he said “Come forward, Princess.” I walked out and stood beside him, smiling. He continued, “Our lovely Princess got married today.” He then gestured to Paul as the audience cheered, who came toward him, beaming, and introduced him.

Leaning out toward the waiting audience, the ‘Dame’ went on, “I want to let you in on a little secret.” He glanced mischievously from one to the other of us and I couldn’t help but feel a little anxious at what was coming. “We want to assure you—there will be the same grand performance tonight!” It was spoken with the usual performer’s volume and flourish. I felt so embarrassed and flushed red from ear to ear. It was with great relief that I heard the swish of the curtains and watched them swing across to hide us all and offer us leave.

                                                            *    *    *    *

After our wedding and Mother Goose, Chesney Allan became our agent and was in charge of our bookings. We continued to work hard with the puppets and knew that the act was always improving. We performed with them on a couple of tours in number two theatres. At this time, it was good to be working as the competition had increased. With televisions becoming more affordable, more and more people were purchasing them, which, in turn, had it’s impact on theatre patronage. A number of theatres were forced to close.

Another Summer Season was upon us but we finding it hard to garner interest in the puppet show, as no-one seemed to want a puppet act—until Chesney Allan was contacted by a producer from Southsea, near Portsmouth, who requested just that.

We agreed, again grateful for the work when we were seeing many colleagues out of work. We packed puppets and costumes and were soon in Southsea. The disappointment I’d felt on arrival at the pier theatre at Clacton on Sea, was nothing to how I felt upon viewing this one. It was virtually on the beach—a purpose-built little open-air puppet theatre. It had a tiny stage for the puppets but the puppeteers were to be hidden from view. We had one assistant—a far cry from the groups of actors, comedians, musicians, producers and managers I’d been used to. A nightmare.

So we had no choice but to do our puppet show out of sight, which meant some changes to what we’d developed. We were effectively ‘pulling strings’ for four hours a day. Returning to our ‘digs’ a week later, tired from the seemingly endless and ungratifying behind-the-scenes work, I noticed my mother’s handwriting on an envelope that had been delivered earlier that day. I opened it and was horrified to read that she was coming to Southsea to see us.

Once there, she was equally horrified to see what I was doing. “I never expected to see my daughter working in a side show on the beach!"

I smiled deprecatingly. “I didn't expect it either! Dear Mr Allan hadn't looked carefully enough in the contract.” He’d felt badly about it and knew that the season was below our abilities and expectations—which may have been what spurred him to speak about us to Will Hammer.

We were introduced by Chesney Allan to the incredibly rich, Will Hammer. He was the owner of numerous theatres in Britain as well as a number of other businesses. Whatever Mr Allan had said to him must have had an affect because, within only a few days, we were told we’d be working in his Summer Season. On top of this, I was back in a Principal role with a contract to follow the Summer Season and perform as Cinderella in one of his Number One theatres. The downhill slide was once again moving back up!  

Summer Revues and Pantomimes, By Tracey Vale

Babes in the Wood

Performances continued at the Alexandra Theatre with my role as a Babe being the more prominent one. Roles in pantomimes such as Robin Hood followed, with each pantomime season beginning at the end of the year and running into the New Year. The 1948/1949 season saw me as Boy Babe in another production of Babes in the Wood at The Grand Theatre Wolverhampton, followed by another season in Birmingham.

It was at this time that Dorothy had achieved her makeover of me and Madame Lehmiski soon saw fit to promote me to Head Girl—something she hadn’t considered when I looked and dressed like a twelve-year-old. Mum’s resistance to the change in me soon metamorphosed from the initial upsetting surprise to acceptance and realisation that it was right—that I would still obtain roles but in a different form, and one more suited to my age.

As Head Girl of the Lehmiski performances, I was 17 and very young to be given the responsibility but Madame reassured me.

“I trust you,” she said, in her warm but no-nonsense way.

 At Madame Lehmiski's Theatre School

In April, Madame sent myself and three other girls for two weeks with a repertory company, also at The Grand Theatre in Wolverhampton. We were always honoured and excited to be chosen to join a professional repertory company and learned so much from those involved.

The first day of rehearsals, I noticed a new stage hand who looked to be about my age. He was busily sweeping the stage in readiness and, later, assisted us back-stage. His name was Paul Sharratt and, I gleaned from talking to him in my breaks that he dreamed of working on the stage. "But not like this", he assured me. He wanted, more than anything, to be one of the performers and he was determined to do anything to get there.

It was to his parent’s utter chagrin that he left his private school education at St. Chads well before graduating. They felt that they he was throwing away the investment they had made in his education to pursue something that was a 'pie in the sky', but he would not be deterred and left the school against their wishes. He knocked on theatre doors asking for work, believing that he could achieve his dream as long as he could gain an entry into theatre life. A position as a stage-hand certainly wasn't what he ultimately wanted to do but he didn't plan to stay in that position for long.

The theatre meant that he was there amongst performers, stage managers, agents, costumes, comedians, dancers, singers and could soak up the atmosphere. He was amongst the hustle of rehearsals, stage directions, scene changes, lighting and sound and the tangible excitement of first-night performances, with the audience waiting expectantly to be transported and entertained.

Without the theatre school background and experience of all the actors, comedians, singers and dancers, with whom he was rubbing shoulders, he was on an uphill climb to learn everything he could. He knew he had to speak to the right people, harness friendships with them and nurture potential business relationships that would ultimately lead him to his goal. He believed in himself to the point of ignoring the years of education that most of us had been entrenched with, entailing every aspect of our theatre life, and was positive he would soon be on the stage legitimately.

Returning to the Studio School, Madame Lehmiski appointed me Head Girl again for the upcoming Pantomime Season. I was in charge of 20 Lehmiski Ladies and ten Lehmiski Babes at the Grand Theatre, Wolverhampton. It was my job to keep a watchful eye on their behaviour; to call rehearsals when needed; and report to management when any problems arose. From there, I organised additional rehearsals where necessary.

It was 1950 and we were rehearsing for a season of ‘Jack and the Beanstalk’. The rehearsals were next door to The Grand Theatre, in the hotel ballroom, as we had only limited access to rehearsal space in the theatre while the current play was in production. Jesse Matthews was starring in this, her first play since a recent nervous breakdown. She was also staying at the hotel where our rehearsals were taking place.

Jesse had been a much-loved actress, singer and dancer with lead roles in many hit stage musicals and films, extending her fame to the United States in the 1930’s and at the beginning of World War Two. There followed several years away from the stage and an unsuccessful ‘comeback’ in a movie thriller.1 Her absence is linked to scandal; ill-health, including a diagnosis of schizophrenia; and a nervous breakdown. Her psychiatric responses stem from a rape when she was 16 which had resulted in pregnancy and a forced abortion, later blamed for a series of miscarriages.2

On this particular day, we were rehearsing the scene where Jack takes the cow, named Jessie, to market. We sang our chorus rendition loudly “They’re taking poor Jessie away! They’re taking poor Jessie away!”

Suddenly, there was a pounding on the double ballroom doors as they dramatically swung open and, to our shock and surprise, Jessie Matthews swept feverishly into the room.

Mistaking the song for a taunt, she shouted, sweeping her eyes over us all, tears apparent “I do not think that is at all funny! It’s very cruel!” and, turning on her heel, sped out of the room before any of us could explain.

I met Paul again during this Pantomime Season of December to March. I would see him briefly between scenes or at the end of performances, exchanging the briefest greeting, as only time allowed. "Hello, Paul," I would call out, as I raced to change costume or get into position on stage. "Goodbye, Joan!" He would call at the end of the evening as he prepared to finish his jobs after curtain close.

*    *    *    *

Easter was on the horizon.

“He’s just bought a new car,” I was pleading about my then boyfriend, John Dawes, son of very wealthy parents “And he’s organised a day trip to Wales with friends.” The only problem was that it was the Easter weekend.

My father was concerned about the spate of bad events that had occurred to our family over Easter. “Look, I’m not superstitious—but don’t go,” he’d said in his succinct, no-nonsense way.

But I wasn’t concerned that anything would happen to me and, instead, looked forward to the trip. Following a fuel stop, John pulled out from the petrol station and said “Let’s see how fast we can go!” With that, he put his foot down and sped off down the road.

I turned to speak to the back seat passengers, leaning my back against the door. But, before I could utter a word, the improperly latched door gave way behind me and, with a shock, I felt myself falling from the car.

Swept out onto the road, I landed hard and rolled several times, yet somehow managed to keep my face free from injury. My clothing was shredded and my limbs, severely grazed, bruised and battered. John and my friends gathered me back into the car and raced me to the nearest hospital. It was an arduous afternoon—nothing like the one that had been planned—as I helped the nurses tweeze out pieces of road debris, bit by bit.

“We’d like to keep you in for observation,” the doctor said, once I’d been heavily bandaged. “It will give us the chance to monitor any swelling and adjust the bandages.” But I insisted I had to return home.

I was quite a sight for my father, standing on the doorstep a short time later, shredded clothing barely disguising the many bandages. I cringed at the thought of his “I told you so” reaction—but, naturally, I was wrong. He was all concern, helping me carefully to bed with his usual hot chocolate tonic.

For days on end, I ached all over and it was difficult to sit comfortably. I took some necessary time off from Theatre School to recover—gaining a little weight in the process that didn’t go unnoticed by Madame Lehmiski once I returned.

My first lesson back was ballet. Before the accident I had completed an exam as part of the process to gain the necessary teaching qualifications, with one exam remaining. The ballet lesson was not going well and I became increasingly grateful for the teaching path I was taking. During the lesson, I discovered that I couldn’t lift my leg above knee height.

Madame Lehmiski was concerned that I couldn't complete the second exam because of this and decided to send me, along with five other girls to a Summer Revue season at St. Anne's, known as the 'Radio Follies'. This was to run from June until September and was my first theatre season away from home. As Head Girl, I was to help with the choreography of the scenes and, as such, was appointed Assistant Choreographer.

In the meantime, I had broken off my relationship with John. Of my new appointment at St. Anne’s he said “I knew you would be on the stage and travel all over the place.” Handing me a chocolate bar, he assured me that we would meet again. When we said goodbye, he said "Even if we are eighty years old we will meet again".

*    *    *    *

It was a bittersweet moment, watching him leave. As he walked out of my life I wondered if we would ever see each other again.

We’d met at a Young People’s Conference in Walsall which had nothing to do with theatre. I went with Jean and was seated alongside a young man who introduced himself as John Dawes. We discussed ages and discovered that we were both born in October 1932 and that our mothers knew each other. His father owned a trucking business and John was to follow in his footsteps. By the end of the Conference, he’d asked me to go out to the pictures.

Theatre life would not have been possible with John as he didn’t understand it, or the level of commitment involved, but I wonder what my life would have been like. I think that if I hadn’t met Paul and seen the possibility of a shared life on the stage, I could have become John’s wife. Paul, on the other hand, loved theatre and was constantly asking me questions in his bid to learn in a fast-tracked style.

I really liked John and I think that the time I spent with him was the only time I spent as a ‘normal’ teenager. We went to movies and local dances, picnics and long, country drives. John’s mother invited me to go on holiday with her, John and his younger brother. We drove to Devon and spent an idealic time there—and so free and different from the rushes of Theatre School and the often hectic juggling of performances and rehearsals.

However, so much of my life had already been on the stage, and in the top theatres, and was on an upward climb with new opportunities revealing themselves. On top of this, Mum delighted in telling people that I was on the stage, detailing the performance I was in and where it was to be. She expected this to continue, as did Paul and Madame. As usual, never wanting to ‘rock the boat’, I did what was expected.

*    *    *    *

The Revue was so-named the 'Radio Follies' as the show belonged to the two comics, Holt and Maurice, who had found fame with their comic talent on radio. It was Holt and Maurice who introduced me to acting in comedy sketches and taught me so much about professional theatre.

The Ashton Pavilion Theatre at St Annes was surrounded by landscaped parklands, named the Ashton Gardens after Lord Ashton purchased another parcel of land to complement it and made a substantial donation in 1914. Out of this, the gardens were radically altered from their sand dune plantings to large areas of undulating ornamental plantings as well as rose, rock features and water gardens.  

The local people made us feel so welcome and wherever we went in the area, people seemed to know who we were. The cast, with whom we were to spend considerable time over the next few months, were also warm and welcoming.

The town, founded in 1875, was also known as St. Anne’s-on-the-Sea, but was usually abbreviated, minus the apostrophe, to St. Annes. It overlooks the Irish Sea, just north of the River Ribble Estuary and is now known as Lytham St Annes with the converging of two towns. Its location made it an idealic place to work and a popular holiday destination with its summer shows, gardens, pier and plentiful array of deck chairs available for hire on the beach.

We met a local horse owner on the beach when he and his staff were exercising the horses. He invited us to join them each morning—thus, we learned to ride. It was an exhilarating way to start the day, galloping on the sand and into the shallow edges of the lapping sea.

I had maintained contact with Paul and we became boyfriend and girlfriend just prior to his call up for compulsory service. He was to spend the next two years with the Royal Air Force but managed to find the time to visit me wherever I was, coming first to St. Anne's on his newly-purchased motorbike.

Holt and Maurice wanted me to continue performing with them for the Autumn Revue season. I went on tour with them, extending my first time away from home to five months, before returning to the Theatre School and Pantomime Season.

I had been asked to play the part of Principal Fairy in this upcoming season and was both excited by the role and anxious about my ability. My main concern was that my dancing had suffered since the accident and I had found it difficult during the Summer Revue and through the previous Pantomime Season. As Head Girl, I could excuse myself from the shows to a certain extent as I had to oversee the chorus and take notes on their performance. I was also understudy for the flying fairy, and played the part for a few weeks. I loved the thrill of flying through the air with the assistance of unseen ropes and strings—but this was not easy.

Although thrilling the part of flying fairy was also hard on me and didn’t help my back. I wore an uncomfortable leather harness, was hauled up a rope to the Flies and then felt an almighty jolt as I flew down to the stage. I knew I needed to undertake strengthening and rehabilitation-style exercise to get back to my full potential.

As soon as I returned home, I set about improving my mobility. I spent four mornings a week with my old teacher, Eileen. On top of this, I taught four students every Saturday which also meant that I could build up strength and ability at the same time. This was followed by the next pantomime season as Principal Fairy and another Summer Revue, also as Head Girl and in charge of six Lehmiski girls.

This was the summer season of 1952 and the show was named the Arcadian Follies. Ernest Binns was the producer, as he had been for the Radio Follies, and the show had been running for over 30 years to delighted holiday audiences, in Morecambe, also known as Bradford-by-the-Sea, before his death at age 65 in August of the same year. He was producer of several shows in different towns at the same time. As such, he would call in from time to time to take a look and ask the director how it was going.

The director gave me substantial acting roles in the show as well as a dance solo. This was the Dying Swan and was my first ballet solo. He hadn't seen me do any point work but he believed  I could do it and asked if I knew the role. I said that I did and he set about fitting the piece into the show especially for me. It was exhilarating. I was so excited to be given the role and absolutely revelled in it. Most of it was point work, which meant many blisters, ending with the graceful, swooning death scene.


My costume for the Dying Swan was the traditional tutu. During the season, however, I had a cooking accident in the 'digs' I shared with the other girls. Cooking hot chips one night for our meal, I knocked the pan and scored scalding oil down one leg, resulting in long streaks of painful burns. Once cleaned, creamed and bandaged, I approached the director to say I couldn't do my solo as the bandage was too big and visible. 


"Can one of the other girls stand in?" I asked.


"No. Absolutely not. You must do it," was his immediate response. With that, he presented me with a long skirt to disguise my injury and the show went on.

Just before the final show, the director approached me and asked if I would like to go on tour as part of the Repertory Company and with a leading solo role. I telephoned Madame Lehmiski, as this was separate from the work she was able to give us, and explained the offer I’d been given.

I could feel her warmth and excitement down the line as she drew in a sharp breath before exclaiming, “Oh, congratulations! Yes—do it!”

This was such an exciting time for me. I was on tour as part of a professional company! It meant living in theatrical ‘digs’ and moving on to a different town every one or two weeks. Paul still managed to come and visit me from time to time and would often say, with eyes lit up, “This is what I want to do when I leave the RAF.”

The tour continued and I was asked to stay with the company. I was offered the Principal role of Fairy Queen in their production of Dick Whittington. Just before this was to begin, I returned home as I was so torn as to what was the best path—should I complete my training at Madame Lehmiski's or take the role and possibly forego ever finishing? It was a fantastic opportunity but I still wanted to teach, or to at least have the option in the future.

Mum was no help either in helping me come to a decision, perhaps just as confused as I was as to which direction my career should go. As for Dad, he said “I don’t care what you do. You can go work in a shoe shop for all I care!” Not helpful—but not as harsh as it sounded. He meant that it was my decision and whatever I decided would be fine with him. I returned to the theatre school to consult with Madame Lehmiski.

She called everyone ‘Babe’, and this time was no different. I felt nervous about what she might say as I entered her office, but she looked up and smiled warmly. ”Hello, Babe!” She eyed me up and down and her eyes crinkled smaller in consideration of why I was there. “I think you have come to tell me you are not coming back?”

“That’s what I came to see you about,” I began.

“Are you enjoying it?” She asked, peering hard at me. I nodded. “Well—that’s your answer, then!” She clapped her hands down onto her knees, as if to say “Simple— subject closed!”

“Dear Madame!” I thought. “You make everything so clear and simple.” I would think of her often throughout my career in this affectionate way. A lot of her students felt intimidated by her and were fearful of her disapproval but I learned so very much from her and would always remember her kind wisdom. Even now, almost 60 years later, when I see a dancer or an actor doing something that was not quite right, I think “Madame would not have liked that!”.

With that, my mind was made up and my acting career continued.

Following Dick Whittington, I returned for another Summer Season in Morcambe with the same company. Paul had almost completed his RAF duties and I was keen to have him work with us. There was another tour following our time at Morcambe and I spoke to the Tour Manager about him, explaining that Paul had experience in Number 1 Theatres in Stage Management. He agreed to take him on as Assistant Stage Manager. I knew he really wanted to be on the stage but, for now, this was his ‘in’.

Sources:

1.   http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jessie_Matthews Cited 16/5/2012 Cited 16/5/2012

2. http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-445576/Jessie-Matthews-The-Diva-Debauchery.html Cited 16/5/2012