The Girl in the Spotty Dress--Memories From the 1950s and the Photo That Changed My Life

by Pat Stewart

  ‘So what about you? Won’t you let me take you out to dinner? Go on, it’ll be fun – just the two of us.’

  I realised I’d been a complete fool and had denied my feelings for Johnny.

  ‘Go on then,’ I said, giving him a nudge with my elbow.

  Johnny shook his head in surprise.

  ‘Was that a yes?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Yes, it was a yes.’

  Although I’d agreed to a dinner the following evening, Johnny’s confidence still frightened me to death. I’d felt so intimidated by him that, by the following evening, I knew I had to get out of it. Standing in the stage wings, I began to yawn. It was enough for him to notice.

  ‘Tired?’ Johnny asked as he came off stage.

  ‘Yes. I’m exhausted. Listen, do you mind if I cancel for tonight?’

  ‘No, that’s fine,’ said Johnny, although he looked disappointed.

  ‘It’s just that I think I’d like an early night.’

  ‘No, I quite understand,’ he replied.

  But I immediately regretted my decision.

  A few nights later, Johnny and I had performed on stage together. It was a simple routine, where Johnny played my stage lover, with Jack Douglas taking the part of my husband. At the end of the sketch, Johnny had to lean forward and kiss me. Up until that point, it had always been a ‘stage’ kiss. However, that evening, instead of pretending, Johnny grabbed hold of me and kissed me full on the mouth – in front of a packed theatre! The kiss had left me breathless.

  ‘That was a bit sly,’ I whispered from the corner of my mouth as we bowed to rapturous applause.

  ‘I know, but a fella’s got to take his chances when he can,’ he said, still facing towards the crowd.

  As we exited the stage, Johnny asked me out to dinner again. This time I accepted. I’d decided that I didn’t want to fight my feelings for him any longer. Of course, the other girls laughed when they realised I’d been in love with Johnny all along. Everyone could see that we were completely right together. It had just been me who had needed a little extra persuasion.

  I was still engaged to Phil but, deep down, I knew I’d never marry him. A week or so later, Phil had travelled down to Weymouth to see me. Unfortunately, as he stood there waiting at the stage door, I pulled up outside in Johnny’s car. Phil looked over at Johnny and Johnny looked over at Phil. I knew in my heart of hearts what I had to do, so I stepped out of the car, pulled the engagement ring from my wedding finger and went over to speak to him.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Phil, but I can’t marry you. Here,’ I said placing the ring in the palm of his hand. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘But, Patty…’ Phil began as I turned to walk away.

  I stopped in my tracks and turned back towards him. ‘I’m sorry, Phil, but I don’t love you.’

  ‘But, Patty,’ he cried and it made me cringe.

  ‘And please don’t call me Patty. I’ve always hated it.’

  I felt like a complete cow, but I knew I had to break his heart in order for him to move on. I’d already decided that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Johnny, and I knew that Phil, or anyone else for that matter, couldn’t do anything to change that.

  A few weeks later, Johnny was reading the newspaper when he stumbled across a story written about an old friend of his – an Irish singer called Ruby Murray. Johnny told me that Ruby had got married to one of her fellow performers, who she’d been starring in a show with.

  ‘Maybe we should do the same,’ I remarked, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

  Johnny looked down at the newspaper, closed it and folded it up in his hands. He looked up at me, a smile playing across his lips.

  ‘All right then, let’s get married!’

  My head spun around to face his.

  ‘Was that a marriage proposal, Johnny Stewart?’ I shrieked.

  Johnny shrugged his shoulders. ‘I suppose it was.’

  We went down to the register office on Monday afternoon and arranged to be married just two days later, on the Wednesday. But there was a problem. The registrar had seemed concerned when Johnny explained he’d been married.

  ‘But I’m divorced now,’ he explained.

  ‘Can I see your decree nisi?’ the registrar asked him.

  Johnny and I looked at him blankly.

  ‘Er, I don’t think I have one,’ Johnny replied. ‘Even if I did have, I wouldn’t have a clue where to find it.’

  ‘But you’re definitely divorced?’ the registrar asked.

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘In that case, I’ll need to see your decree nisi before your wedding day.’

  I was confused. I didn’t understand what a decree nisi was and why we needed one.

  ‘But what if we haven’t got it?’ I asked.

  The registrar sat back in his chair and tapped his finger against a pile of papers on his desk.

  ‘If I don’t have Mr Stewart’s decree nisi on my desk before Wednesday, I’m afraid you can’t get married.’

  I put a hand to my mouth and gasped.

  ‘What, you mean it’ll stop the wedding?’

  The registrar nodded grimly.

  ‘I need it to prove that Mr Stewart is divorced and not about to commit bigamy.’

  Johnny slumped back in his chair. He looked totally defeated. But I wasn’t.

  ‘All right, so where can we get a copy of it?’ I said.

  ‘Somerset House,’ the registrar said. He sifted through a pile of papers. ‘If you wait a moment, I should be able to find an address for you.’

  We left his office with a provisional wedding date for the coming Wednesday. I crossed my fingers that the relevant paperwork would arrive in time and on Wednesday morning, Johnny and I dashed over to the theatre to see if there was a letter for us.

  ‘It’s very important,’ I insisted, as the front-of-house manager flicked through the morning’s post.

  ‘This one says it’s for a Johnny Stewart,’ he finally said.

  ‘That’s me,’ Johnny replied, taking the envelope from the manager’s hand.

  ‘I feel sick,’ I remarked, holding a hand against my throat. ‘I hope this is it.’

  I watched as Johnny ripped open the brown paper envelope and pulled out the letter. My eyes scoured his face, waiting for a reaction as he read and re-read it.

  ‘What is it, Johnny? Have they sent it through?’ I asked. My heart beat furiously as I waited for him to speak.

  ‘This is it!’ he said, holding the letter aloft. ‘It’s my decree nisi, Pat!’

  With that, he scooped me up in his arms and twirled me around as I threw my head back and laughed.

  ‘Pat Wilson, will you marry me today?’ Johnny asked, planting my feet back down on the ground.

  Tears of relief flooded my eyes and then it dawned on me.

  ‘I’ll need to go into town first. We’re getting married at two o’clock and I haven’t got a thing to wear!’ I grinned as tears of happiness streamed down my face.

  Johnny took the decree nisi to the registry office to confirm the wedding, while I washed my hair in the theatre’s dressing room. I then nipped into town, where I bought myself a beautiful blue corduroy dress. It was hardly a wedding dress but, with its nipped-in waist, as soon as I pulled it on, I felt a million dollars. I didn’t care that it wasn’t a white dress or that we weren’t getting married in a church – all that mattered was I was about to marry the love of my life.

  At 2pm Johnny and I walked into the register office and a little while later we emerged as Mr and Mrs Stewart. It was 3 September 1956. We’d needed two independent witnesses, so Johnny had popped outside and dragged in a poor unsuspecting couple off the street. Three hours later, we were back at the theatre in time for the afternoon matinee. We hadn’t told a soul what we’d just done, but someone must have spotted my wedding ring because, after the show ended, Jack Douglas, my ‘on-stage’ husband, had an announcement to make.

  Jack stepped forward from the
line as the three of us took our bow. Johnny and I glanced at one another because we knew it wasn’t in the script and, for a moment, we thought he’d gone quite mad.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ I whispered to Johnny.

  ‘Search me.’

  Jack raised his hands and waved them down in a bid to quieten the audience and the applause.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began as a hush descended across the theatre. ‘You’ve been a fantastic audience. Thank you so much for coming along to tonight’s performance. We really hope that you’ve enjoyed it. Now, if it’s all right with you, I have an announcement to make. We’ve just discovered that Johnny has just married the lovely Pat this afternoon. They thought we didn’t know but we all noticed the ring on her finger. Now I’m sure you would all like to join me in wishing the happy couple all our love and success for the future.’

  The Gardens Pavilion in Weymouth erupted as members of the audience began to stand, cheer and whistle in celebration. Soon, everyone was on their feet, clapping wildly. Johnny and I stepped forward into the spotlight to take another bow. It’s rare that I’m ever lost for words but, at that moment, I was speechless. Remarkably, and for the first time ever, so was Johnny.

  CHAPTER 13

  THE BEVERLEY SISTERS AND THE FAR EAST

  The following day, I sat down and wrote a letter to my parents. ‘Dear Mam and Dad,’ I began, the pen poised in my hand as Johnny sat by my side.

  I turned to him.

  ‘How on earth am I going break it to them that their only daughter has gone off and got married without a word?’

  ‘Here, give me the pen,’ he said and sighed. ‘What do you want me to write?’

  ‘I just think I need to tell them that I’m absolutely certain we’ve done the right thing and that I hope they’ll feel as happy as I do right now.’

  Johnny passed the pen back to me.

  ‘I think this is something you need to do, Pat.’

  He was right, of course. In the end, I explained that it would have been pointless for Johnny and I to wait because we were always so busy performing. Also, we’d never be able to plan a big, white wedding because we never knew where we would be.

  ‘Do you think it’s all right?’ I asked, handing him the letter.

  Johnny read it and nodded.

  ‘I think it’s perfect. It says all it needs to say.’

  If I had thought my parents would be upset, I was wrong. Instead, they jumped on a train and travelled all the way down to Weymouth to meet their new son-in-law. Thankfully, they got on with him like a house on fire and welcomed Johnny with open arms.

  ‘Come on, lad.’ Dad said, giving him a friendly slap on the back. ‘Let me buy yer a pint t’welcome you t’family properly.’

  Mam and Dad stayed for a week or so before catching the train back home.

  ‘Yer better look after her!’ Mam said, wagging her finger at Johnny before they left.

  Johnny circled an arm around my waist and smiled back at her.

  ‘I will. I promise!’

  Sadly, I’d decided that, now I was a married woman, my dancing career with Nick had to come to an end. I knew I couldn’t continue to chase jobs up and down the country because I wanted to be with Johnny.

  ‘I’m sorry Nick,’ I said. ‘The last thing I expected when I came to Weymouth was to end up a married woman.’

  Nick was disappointed but very understanding.

  ‘It’s all right, Pat. You and Johnny are made for one another – anyone can see that. I wish you all the best for the future.’

  ‘But what will you do?’ I asked, feeling guilty that our duo would be over once the show had come to an end.

  ‘I’ll just audition for another girl.’

  So that’s what he did. When the season had finally ended, I hugged Nick and wished him well. It felt sad to be saying goodbye, but I knew in my heart of hearts this part of my dancing career was over for good.

  A few weeks later, I received a letter with an offer for me to star in pantomime. A lady called Gladys Laidler, who was a very famous principal boy at the time, had sent it. Gladys was married to Francis Laidler, who was well respected for his pantomime productions. I’d actually worked for him many years before when I’d been a chorus girl in my first show at Leeds.

  ‘Where’s the pantomime?’ Johnny asked when I told him about the job offer.

  ‘It’s at the Bradford Alhambra.’

  ‘It’s a good theatre, Pat,’ he replied, although I could tell he didn’t want us to be parted any more than I did. ‘What’s the part?’ he asked, breaking my thoughts.

  ‘She wants to offer me the part of the cat,’ I said glancing down at the letter. ‘It’s for Puss in Boots.’

  Johnny nodded his head grimly.

  ‘That’s a good part too,’ he agreed.

  ‘I know,’ I said, resting the letter down on the table in my dressing room. ‘It’s a part I’ve always wanted to play,’ I sighed.

  I jokingly slapped my thigh in a puss-in-boots style. It made Johnny laugh.

  ‘But I can’t take it,’ I decided.

  ‘Why ever not?’

  I held him close and planted a kiss on his lips.

  ‘Because I’ve got a new role – here with you. I’m your wife, Johnny, and I can’t think of a part I’d rather play.’

  After we’d married, Johnny and I had discussed working and living apart. We both knew the only way our marriage would survive the tough world of show business would be if we worked together as a team. I could have been offered the best spot at the London Palladium, but I wouldn’t have been tempted because wild horses couldn’t drag me from Johnny’s side. Instead, I decided to become Johnny’s personal assistant. I made phone calls, chased agents and dealt with all his business enquiries. He even asked me to help write comedy scripts for him.

  ‘But I don’t have a clue how to write a script,’ I gasped, thinking he’d lost the plot.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Pat. You’ve been in pantomimes all your life and they are the most heavily scripted pieces of theatre out there.’

  A writer for a proposed show would send over a basic script to us, and we would write in all of Johnny’s entrances. He’d come up with the gags, while I helped with the choreography and his movements on stage.

  ‘No, you need to be more over to the left when you say that line,’ I’d say, directing him from the stalls.

  Johnny also tried out all his new gags on me first.

  ‘You can help me fine-tune them,’ he explained.

  After the season at Weymouth, Johnny was called to perform in a show out in Cyprus for the troops. He’d signed the contract long before we’d married, so he had to honour it. Johnny would be working for Combined Services Entertainment (CSE for short). The CSE was the modern equivalent of ENSA (Entertainments National Service Association) and rehearsals would take place in the War Office. The office was based in a large baroque-type building, which was on Horse Guards Avenue at its junction with Whitehall, in central London.

  The building was oddly shaped, with four distinctive domes that contained over 1,000 rooms across seven floors. It was in one of these rooms that the cast practised, and I helped with the choreography. After a few weeks, the cast flew out to Cyprus. I felt at a loose end, so I decided to return home to see my parents in Featherstone. Johnny was away for six weeks and I missed him dreadfully. It was the first time we’d been apart and I felt as though my right arm had been ripped off.

  ‘Don’t worry, love. He’ll soon be back,’ Mam said, trying her best to lift my spirits.

  But nothing could. I was lovesick and counting down the days until Johnny came home.

  Finally, he landed at a military airport and we met up in London.

  ‘I’ve got a surprise. Shut your eyes, Pat,’ Johnny said.

  I did as I was told.

  ‘Right, you can open them,’ he said, dangling a key in front of my face.

  ‘But what’s it for?’ I asked, taking the
large silver key from his hand.

  ‘Our first home – just me and you. It’s not much – just a bedsit in Kilburn – but it’ll suit us just fine.

  The bedsit had belonged to one of the old theatricals, who had rented it out to supplement his retirement fund. It was basic by today’s standards and situated at the top of an old Victorian building. We rented our own television but, other than that, the room was almost empty, with only a chest of drawers, a wardrobe, a cooker and a bed. It also had a vacuum cleaner but that blew out more dirt than it ever picked up. Still, at last we had somewhere we could call home.

  The War Office and CSE offered Johnny another gig, but this time I was given the job of show choreographer. Although there was no dancing involved, management wanted movement both on and off stage to be as fluid as possible. The tour would take us to the Far East – a land I’d only ever dreamed of. At last, I was working for ENSA. I thought back to all those times as a child when I’d sit and tune into the shows on the radio. I’d hoped one day I’d be able to work for ENSA and now I finally could. It felt like a dream come true.

  Johnny and I flew out to Singapore from a military airport just outside London a week before Christmas, in 1956. There were no long-haul flights, so we stopped off in Spain before continuing our journey to the Far East. The tour was booked to run for eight weeks, which meant we got to spend New Year’s Eve in Malaya. The shows weren’t quite as frequent as we would have liked because the troops were out on manoeuvres, so Johnny suggested we all go to watch an Australian singer, who was performing in a cabaret at one of the city’s five-star hotels.

  ‘She’s supposed to be very good,’ he said.

  The cast agreed, gathered their things and we all headed over there.

  The singer had a beautiful voice, just as Johnny had said. Back then, I didn’t drink alcohol at all. However, I’d decided I was looking a little on the thin side and someone had told me Guinness was a quick way to put a bit of weight on. With this in mind, I ordered half a pint. I gulped it down quickly but it had soon gone to my head. The singer took her place behind the microphone and sang something I knew. It had a good beat, so I jumped up on the table and began to dance along. I don’t remember much else about it, but Johnny later told me I’d gone down a storm.