PomPoms Up!

by Carol Cleveland

  “The 02 Arena?! Oh, my God! Everybody? John too?”

  “Yes, and John.”

  “Wow! How many shows?”

  “Just the one for now…. maybe more later.”

  “I’m flabbergasted!”

  “So, we’d like to have you on board. Are you available next July?”

  “You bet your big, Python foot I am!”

  “Ok, but please don’t tell anyone. We don’t want it leaked out before the big press launch in November. You’re sworn to secrecy till then.”

  The next six weeks were hellish! I was dying to tell my friends and family, but could only hint at something “really BIG” happening next year!

  But when it was announced, boy, did EVERYBODY hear about it! The press launch was televised live around the world and nearly every newspaper in this country and far beyond had a photo of the Pythons holding me up in their arms, with captions like, ‘It’s the Holy Grail of reunions!’

  Chapter Two

  WAR BABY

  January 13th, 1942.

  A girl, Carol Gillian Frances, born to Ada Eileen Spreckley and David Ralph Anthony Spreckley at Connaught Avenue, Mortlake, Barnes, England.

  In my Baby’s Diary my father writes,

  “Last Tuesday you were born, my little snoozle… seven pounds, small bones, thick dark hair and long thin nails which lead me to hope that your hands will be long, beautiful and artistic. You also have one nipple in and one out, whatever that might mean! You haven’t much chin yet, sweetikins, but an adorable little rosebud mouth. You don’t seem to dribble or cry, and you certainly don’t smell. I think you’re sweet.”

  I can assure the readers that my nipple sorted itself out ages ago and I still don’t smell, thankfully. At least, if I do, no-one has mentioned it! I do however, cry occasionally. As for the dribbling, well, I suppose that’s yet to come.

  Daddy went on to write,

  “On all sides people congratulate us on our ‘courage’ in producing you at this time, which is in itself a sign of the death that is in the heart and soul and mind of mankind just now. This week, as you lived, tens of thousands of German and Russian men died, out in the snow where vast mechanical armies are now at the biggest mass slaughter of itself that the human race has ever indulged in. Premature death is coming to millions for no good reason. The flames of hate and unreason are spreading; there is more lying, more deceit; there is less goodness in the heart of mankind, less opportunity and less urge to search after truth. In the face of all this, you are born.”

  Three years later, my father was serving a four months prison sentence, as a Conscientious Objector. He stood by his convictions for the rest of his life and I’m proud of him for that.

  My mother was generally much more optimistic and writes,

  “Your daddy has told you about the awful mess the world is in. So many people thought we were crazy to have you, and perhaps cruel to you too. But somehow I think we shall be alright, we three. I know life for us will be a lovely thing, whatever happens outside.”

  Sadly, it didn’t quite work out that way.

  Show-business was clearly in my blood. My mother, who was quite a Glamour-Girl herself, worked both as a model and also at the Riverside Film Studios, playing bit parts and as a ‘stand-in’ for actresses like Phyllis Calvert. She worked on the film Caravan which starred the newest heart-throb, Stewart Granger. He apparently was quite a flirt and made a play for her. My father was also an actor for a while and they first met each other on a film set.

  So, it was only a matter of time before I too was beaming away at the cameras.

  I was not yet two when my mother writes,

  “An amazing thing has happened. You have started working for your living! Two publicity jobs in two weeks, meaning two guineas for Mummy. Daddy says he’ll be able to give up work soon and live on your earnings.”

  And so my early modelling career had begun. It seems I was born to primp, pose, pout and parade myself in front of an audience. I did enjoy it most of the time, although I could be quite sultry. I was a bit highly strung too and am, to this day, quite emotional. And, like many children, I had a secret, invisible friend who I insisted had to come with me wherever I went. I never spoke her name but one day, out of the blue, I did change my own. My mother had taken me to the film studios and introduced me as her daughter, Carol. I said:

  “I’m Didi and I’m four.”

  We’ve no idea where that came from, but my family name has been Didi ever since.

  My mother and father divorced when I was three years old. It was the usual show-business story… while working in repertory theatre he’d fallen in love with his leading lady. Mummy and I were left to fend for ourselves during the London Blitz. Thankfully my mother was an extremely strong and resourceful woman and we made it through unscathed.

  Mummy then met Cleve, an American Air Force man stationed in London. When the war ended, she and I took off to America to begin our new life with him. I was five and feisty and perhaps a bit confused by it all. I do remember developing a twitch in my eye which then transferred to my nose. Mummy wasn’t too worried about this as my father, David, had the same nose twitch. She did however become quite concerned when I started doing rather odd things, like suddenly getting up from the dining table, grabbing the back of the chair, then squatting down before rising up again and returning to my seat.

  I was sent to see a child psychologist where we’d talk, move wooden blocks around, paint pictures and study various images. I went to see him for about a month before being declared fit and sane. My behaviour was put down to the loss of my father, the trauma of the Blitz, followed by the huge life change. I stopped squatting but continued twitching, on and off, for many years. Even now I sometimes do it when I’m nervous or stressed. Or perhaps I AM a bit bonkers?! That would explain how I managed to fit in so well with the Python boys!

  My step-father was in the armed forces until 1953, so we moved around quite a bit for a few years, as he was transferred from one air force base to another. We went from California to Pennsylvania, back to California, then to Texas and eventually back to California, where we remained until returning to England in 1960. First we lived on the coast, in Monterey, California. Mummy’s close friend Myra joined us there and together they opened a café called ‘The Greasy Spoon’. Neither of them had any knowledge of even working in such an establishment, let alone running one, but they were an instant hit with the local truckers. Two English roses trying to make sense of:

  “Two eggs over easy, hold the bacon, grits on the side.”

  A few years later we moved to San Antonio, Texas, where I picked up a Texan accent, to my mother’s great dismay. She had retained her lovely English accent, which my Texan school chums loved to listen to when they came to our house for ‘Tea.’ I’d started taking an interest in performing and was quite a show-off. I loved dancing and, after watching flame-haired Moira Shearer in the film The Red Shoes, I decided I wanted to be a ballerina. I studied ballet for the next seven years and appeared in a number of local community productions, some as the lead dancer. I also performed with The First California Ballet of Los Angeles and earned my first ten dollars. Eventually, I hung up my point shoes and moved on to modern dance instead. I think I was worried about getting bunions.

  By now we had moved back to California, living in Altadena just under the Foothills. Both my mother and I loved being there, surrounded by orange groves and not far away from the sandy beaches and, of course, the Paramount Film Studios. The weather was near perfect too, with constant sunshine, but the occasional thick ‘smog’ which was every bit as dense and unhealthy as those ‘pea-soupers’ I remember from my childhood in London. California was a great place to be in the fifties and it was a great time to be a teenager. I was now thirteen and going to Marshall Junior High School in Pasadena. I also had a two-year old brother, Christopher.

  It was at this age I decided I wanted to be an actress, rather than a dancer. Well, to be precise, I wan
ted to be a film star, which of course is what everyone who lived near Hollywood wanted to be. I had joined The Youth Theatre Guild and did plays at The Pasadena Playhouse during the summer and winter school breaks. It was one of these productions, Cinderella, that gave me my first acting opportunity. I was supposed to be the lead dancer, but ‘Cinders’ suddenly took ill and I was asked to take over the role. I was reluctant to do it at first, but by the end of the first performance I knew this was what I was destined for.

  I graduated from Marshall in 1958 and went on to Pasadena High School, where I continued to focus primarily on drama and probably not enough on my other studies. However, upon graduation two years later, I was voted ‘the most likely to win an Academy Award’ in the Seniors Tabbed Future Leaders list. It hasn’t happened yet, but hey… there’s still time!

  1958 was also when I started modelling with the William Adrian Teen Modeling Agency. Bill Adrian wasn’t a particularly attractive man – he had a slightly wonky eye due to a debilitating war-time injury as I recall, and a lopsided mouth which he often dribbled from – but he could be quite charming. He called me his ‘Number One’, but I couldn’t help feeling that all his models were his ‘Number One.’ He did, however, find work for ‘his girls.’ I appeared in local magazine advertisements, modelled clothes for the Sears Roebuck catalogue, adorned cars at the local Auto Show and “added beauty to the San Gabriel Valley Fall Garden and Flower Show.”

  Adrian’s speciality though was sending us off to compete in California’s numerous Beauty Pageants. I won some and came second or third in others. To name a few, I was ‘Miss California Navy,’ ‘Miss Chrysler,’ ‘Miss Ambassador Hotel,’ and a finalist in the ‘California Fashion Model of the Year.’ Bill also supplied girls for the famous annual Rose Bowl Parade and I twice rode on a float as a Princess. At age ninety four, he was still running the agency until very recently when he died.

  At this same time, I was given the title of ‘MISS TEEN’ in DIG magazine, the teenager’s bible. I took it as a great compliment that they thought I looked like the young starlet actress Jean Simmons. I got a lovely write-up, which I was over the moon about. I was a bit over the moon about the editor too, after reading his letter to me…

  “Hi Carol! It gives me great pleasure to send you this advance copy of DIG, which features one of the prettiest girls I have seen in many years --- you!…. Look at page 3 --- and flip! If your ambition to become an actress is strong enough, I can see no reason why you can’t make it. I think you have “the” look and can see a great future for you and wouldn’t mind helping you anywhere along the line.”

  I remember he came to see my mother and me and brought his son with him, who I later had a couple of dates with. We both thought each other was ‘really cool’ and so we went to a Big Boy’s Drive-In, got a burger, fries and coke float, and then went on to the drive-in movie park. I doubt we saw much of the movie. Nobody ever did! These were such great days!

  Waleen, a good friend of my mother’s from England, had now moved to Hollywood and had got herself a very good job as personal make-up and hair stylist to Esther Williams. Being a keen swimmer myself, I was dying to meet her, and a date was set for Mummy and I to visit Waleen and Esther at her Beverly Hills home. Unfortunately, when the day came Esther had to go away and I never did get to see her. However, she had told Waleen to give me one of her old swimsuits. I was able to choose from a wardrobe full of them and I picked one with a pink tutu that I later wore as a ballerina.

  Waleen also arranged my first visit to MGM Studios and she somehow managed to sneak me into the studio where Some Like it Hot was being shot. She told me to stay very quiet and still while we found a spot near a wall to stand. As it turned out, we couldn’t have chosen a better day. There was Marilyn Monroe wearing ‘that’ black dress and singing I Wanna Be Loved By You. I was, and always will be, a big fan of Marilyn’s, so I stood and watched in awe. She’d obviously spotted us, because a few minutes later a crew member came over and said:

  “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to leave. Miss Monroe doesn’t like people on the set when she’s working.”

  It was short, but oh so sweet!

  I graduated from Pasadena High in 1960. One of my fellow students, who signed my Campus yearbook, was Jim Keltner, the only other person in that year to make a name for himself in show-business. He’s now a well-known session drummer who has contributed to the work of artists such as Eric Clapton, Elvis Presley and John Lennon. We would meet again one day.

  My plan had been to go on to the Pasadena Playhouse to complete my drama training, but it wasn’t to be. My grandfather was ill with Parkinson’s disease and my grandmother needed us back home. I said a sad farewell to my best girlfriend, Ginny, and my two serious boyfriends, Roy and Monty, and we set sail for England.

  Chapter Three

  MISS PADDINGTON SHOPPING QUEEN

  I was eighteen when I returned to England and it was like starting my life all over again. It wasn’t exactly a happy start however. We hadn’t been back for a visit for several years and now my poor grandfather was very ill with dreaded Parkinson’s disease and could only stammer and stutter and cry when he saw us. His head shook uncontrollably and he was unable to rise from his old, favourite armchair without assistance. It broke my mother’s heart and mine to see him like that. My grandmother, Bertha, had always been frail, but now she was much more so. Joe was a big man and it must have been very difficult for her to lift him on her own.

  My early years spent with my grandparents were such joyous times. For many years Grandpa had been the head gardener at the beautiful, stately Selsdon Park Hotel in South Croydon, ten miles south of London. He had a lovely face with big, rosy cheeks, twinkling eyes, a warm smile and a white moustache which he would twist in his fingers so that it stuck out sideways. He was the perfect Santa Claus at Christmas, knocking at the front door, all dressed in red velvet with white fur cuffs and carrying a big hessian sack full of beautifully wrapped presents.

  Their picturesque cottage was attached to the hotel and in front of it was a huge, delightful garden with every flower imaginable and surrounded by a high brick wall. This was my magical place where I would play and talk to the fairies that lived there and hid under the foliage. I knew they were there because every evening my grandfather would sit me on his knee in front of the roaring fire, cleverly peeling an orange so that the rind fell into my hand in one long spiral, and he would regale us with stories of the fairies, elves and pixies who got up to mischief outside while we slept soundly in our beds. But now I sat next to him, looking into his fading blue eyes and holding his hand while telling him stories about California.

  They were living in another cottage now since he’d retired and that’s where he was when he passed away a few months later. I sat for quite a while next to his bed trying to take in that he would never again wake from that long sleep. I still have a clear image of myself looking out of the car window as we crawled along behind the hearse and watching people’s reactions. As we passed, everyone stopped in silence where they were. Some would ‘cross’ themselves, others lowered their heads and every gentleman took off his hat. I hadn’t come across this show of respect in California. Sadly, nor have I seen it again in England for a very long time. I went very quiet for a while. The thought of death frightened and worried me. To tell the truth, it still does.

  Life had changed again for Mummy and me. My step-father, Cleve, had now joined us and we five moved into a big, four-story Victorian house in London’s Maida Vale. This wasn’t at all what my mother had wished for, as she’d hoped my grandmother would return with us to California. Granny wasn’t keen on that idea however. She’d never even travelled around Britain, let alone left its shores. Sadly for Mummy, those golden years were never to be repeated and I don’t think she was ever as happy again. Unfortunately, Cleve found it difficult to find work in England and after a year he accepted a job in South Africa. He was meant to return to us after a year, but instead he went on to a
nother job back in America, which resulted in a divorce. Mummy was not one to give up though and she still had much to offer. I would have another step-father in time.

  While things were rather difficult for Mummy, Granny and my little brother, my own life had taken an exciting turn for the best. Not long after returning to England, I had auditioned for a place at the prestigious Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, or RADA as it is known, and was now waiting to hear if I’d been accepted. I spent the time reading plays and brushing up on my Shakespeare. Then, one day I heard a loud jingle coming from outside the window. There was a van going by with a loudspeaker on it, announcing the up-coming, ‘Paddington Shopping Week.’ How dull, I thought, until I heard the next bit:

  “Attention all lovely young ladies of the borough! The search is on to find the Paddington Shopping Queen! Could it be YOU?! Pick up an entry form at Whiteleys today.”

  Whiteleys was London’s first department store and has a theatrical connection. It opened as a drapery shop in 1863 but by 1890 employed over 6,000 staff who worked from 7am to 11pm six days a week, with 176 rules to obey. In Bernard Shaw’s 1913 play Pygmalion, Eliza Doolittle is sent “to Whiteleys to be attired.” Since then it has featured in numerous films and TV shows, the most recent being the 2013 BBC1 thriller series The Escape Artist. By coincidence, my mother had got her first modelling job there just after leaving school.

  I’m thinking, I’ve got two years ahead of me to brush up my Shakespeare, so why not make a bit of a name for myself first?! I got the entry form and made it into the finals. There were two elimination evenings and I went from being one of nineteen to one of six. The competition was fierce at this stage. The other girls put on a show of being friendly, but it was a pretty poor show. The claws were out and all the false smiles soon disappeared as I was announced the winner. I was crowned by one of the judges, actress Susannah York, herself an ex-RADA student, who strangely seemed more nervous than I was. An ex-Windmill girl, Kim Carlton came second. She was quoted in the local press as saying, “This is my first contest… and my last. This business of just looking pretty is not for me.” Two years later she won the Miss England title. I couldn’t help wondering what might have happened if I’d been in that competition?