by Pat Stewart
‘Well if you won’t, I will. Pat, I have known you for over forty years. I know it’s you in that photo and not Norma thingymebob. Someone needs to put a stop to this right now!’
‘But how?’ I said. ‘How can we?’
But Kay was adamant.
‘I’m going to ring up The One Show and tell them they’ve got it wrong!’
With that, Kay put down the phone to me and spoke to a researcher on The One Show. Moments later, she called me back.
‘Do you have anything that proves you’re the girl in the spotty dress?’ she asked.
‘I… I… can’t think of anything I have.’
Without proof, I knew I was stuck. Who would believe the word of an old lady without proof? Especially when there was someone else so insistent it was her?
Rachel also telephoned the show in protest, but they said, again, that I needed to prove it.
‘But how can I prove I was on that promenade fifty years ago?’ I said to Rachel.
The producer called my daughter back. He told her that Norma had insisted she was the girl in the spotty dress and not only that, but that her friend Alice had claimed to be Wendy! He explained that Norma had said they’d been in Blackpool in the 1950s when an unknown photographer had asked them to pose for the iconic photo.
‘But it’s a famous photograph. Bert Hardy isn’t an unknown photographer!’ I gasped. ‘He was one of the greatest photographers of his generation!’
Rachel rang the producer and told him all about Bert. To my delight, he called me straight back.
‘We believe there’s been a mistake,’ he admitted.
He told me Norma had made a genuine mistake and had assumed it had been her and her friend in the photograph.
‘What? And she’s been making that same mistake for all these years?’ I said, my voice incredulous.
The producer didn’t know how to answer, so he changed tack.
‘We’d like you to appear on the show, if that’s possible? We’d like to try and rectify things.’
‘I will,’ I agreed. ‘But only if I can meet Norma whatshername. I’d like to ask her why she’s been telling people she’s the girl in the photograph for all these years!’
Sensing my anger, the producer promised to ask but said he didn’t think Norma would want to meet me.
‘I’m not surprised!’ I scoffed.
A film crew travelled to the Lamb and Flag pub in Wick, where Phil Tufnell interviewed me for the programme.
‘You seem to know a lot more about this than the last lady knew,’ he remarked as the film crew packed away their cameras.
‘I’m not surprised. It wasn’t her! She wasn’t even there!’ I laughed.
Phil chuckled.
‘Well, it’s been a real pleasure meeting you, Pat,’ he said, shaking my hand.
Thankfully, my version of events was backed up by Brian Dowling, the reporter, whom we’d met at the stage door all those years before. The interview was screened on The One Show in March 2011. They even gave Norma a piece to camera, as she explained that the whole thing had been an honest mistake. To be fair, I think the BBC was extremely embarrassed because it had been the BBC library that had produced the commemorative calendar including Bert, Wendy and me only twenty years earlier. The local newspaper had picked up the story and soon the world’s press were knocking at my door. For the first time in years, I was back in the spotlight.
I met up with Brian Dowling, who reminded me that Bert had given me a copy of the photographic contact sheets as a present.
‘Of course!’ I said.
As soon as I returned home, I dug them out. The photographic contacts pictured Wendy and me in various poses, from sitting on donkeys to building sandcastles on Blackpool beach.
When the journalist from the Daily Mail rang to interview me, I reminded him he’d once asked me to prove who I was.
‘And now I can,’ I said, ‘because I have the contact sheets.’
The journalist was extremely charming, but I couldn’t help but rib him.
‘If only you’d have listened to me all those years ago, this wouldn’t be happening,’ I teased. ‘We wouldn’t be having this conversation.’
It made him laugh and me too. Once and for all, I’d proved who I was – I was the Girl in the Spotty Dress and no one could, or would, ever take that away from me again.
CHAPTER 27
TAKE A BOW
Today, I feel as though I’ve led a full and happy life. From that naive, blonde, fresh-faced seventeen-year-old perched on those railings at Blackpool Promenade, to the contented eighty-two-year-old grandmother I am now.
Bert Hardy, the brilliant photographer who shot that iconic image, sadly died in July 1995. It was only eight years after I’d met him for the BBC calendar photo shoot in 1987, but I’m sure he’d be delighted to know that his name and the photograph he took that blustery morning live on. In fact, I’ve spotted myself on prints, mugs and postcards. I see my seventeen-year-old self staring back at me regularly, which may sound strange, but it’s also very comforting.
I actually did finally ring Norma Edmondson. It took a while but, eventually, she came to the phone. When she asked who it was she was speaking to, I told her straight.
‘I’m Pat Wilson, the girl in the spotty dress.’
Norma didn’t say much, but she made it clear that she didn’t want to speak to me. I didn’t mind because I’d felt I’d said all I’d needed to say.
Since my appearance on The One Show, I’ve received fan mail. I even received a lovely letter from Lord Lofthouse, Baron of Pontefract, who said he remembered me as a child. It transpired that he’d lived only thirty metres away from my home and he remembered my mother fondly. It’s a small world. After my last stint in the spotlight, I was asked to do some filming for the British Legion for its Poppy Appeal, which, given Johnny’s time fighting in Arnhem, I was more than happy to do.
Today I can’t kick as high I once could because I’ve had two hip operations. I put them off for years, trying to deny that I needed them. Instead, I took up walking because I convinced myself I could simply ‘walk’ away the pain, being the stubborn Pat I’d always been. That was until May 2012, when I fell and fractured my femur while visiting Rachel over in Holland. Of course, the Dutch doctor pulled no punches when speaking to Rachel after I’d been patched up.
‘Your mother is very foolish,’ he said, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘She would only be in half as much pain if she’d have had her hip replacement!’
It made me think, so I asked to be referred to a surgeon back home, who agreed with the Dutch doctor.
‘You need a hip replacement, Mrs Stewart,’ he insisted.
But I still didn’t feel quite ready for the op because I was worried it might disable me. My worst nightmare after a life of dance would be to be confined to a wheelchair. Foolishly, I decided I had to ‘walk away the pain’ and stay active for as long as I possibly could.
A year later, in the summer of 2013, Rachel rang me at home to ask something.
‘Mum,’ she said, ‘do you have any old pantomime scripts?’
I was puzzled and asked her why.
‘Because I’m starting up a drama group at the school. It’s Jacob, you see. He’s started to show some real talent on stage,’ Rachel said, explaining there was nowhere in Holland that would benefit him.
I looked, but I couldn’t find any scripts, so I leafed through my old contacts book and called a few of the old theatricals to see if they could help. But no one seemed to have anything left. That’s when it occurred to me: I’d write the script myself, using all my memories from the thousands of performances I’d enjoyed and witnessed over the years. A few hours later, I began typing away at my computer and, before long, I had Pat Stewart’s version of Cinderella saved on my screen.
That Christmas, I travelled over to Holland and spent the festive season with Rachel, my grandchildren and my great-grandchildren. I came back to England, before flying back ov
er to Holland for Rachel’s first production. Taking my place discreetly behind a pillar at the side of the stage, with the script in my hand, I watched the children perform. There were children of all nationalities and many of them were unfamiliar with the ways of panto. Jacob had taken on his grandfather’s old part of Buttons, which he played with comic timing. I was close to tears as I watched him – along with children from different countries – deliver old classic panto lines with brilliant timing.
Finally, the show reached the end. Jacob wandered back onto the stage, front cloth, to introduce the rest of the cast. Suddenly, and quite without warning, he began to ad-lib in the style of his granddad, Johnny Stewart. I looked down at my script but the lines weren’t on there – this was coming from Jacob. The theatre was so packed that there were children sat on the floor at the front of the stage. Jacob walked up and began to high-five them, working both sides, with the kids screaming the name ‘Buttons’ at the top of their voices. It was like watching Johnny all over again.
As he left the stage to rapturous applause, Jacob looked at me and, out of the corner of his mouth, he whispered, ‘Now I know just how Justin Bieber feels.’
He grinned cheekily as he passed by.
In that moment, I realised Johnny would never be dead because he and the Stewart ‘showbiz gene’ lived on in his grandson.
CHAPTER 28
ENCORE
With my hips growing ever worse, I was left in constant pain.
Nothing seemed to ease or take it away. Finally, I admitted defeat – I needed medical intervention. The following morning, I rang the doctor I’d seen a few years earlier and enquired about having a hip replacement.
‘It’s Pat Stewart,’ I told him. ‘I’ve changed my mind. Please could you refer me for that hip operation as soon as possible? I’ve been a complete fool!’
A short time later, I visited a specialist for my consultation and, a fortnight after that, in July 2014, I finally had my left hip replaced. I asked the surgeon if he could squeeze me in before he went away on his holiday because I realised just how silly I’d been to put it off. It felt so amazing to finally be pain-free in my left hip that I asked to be booked in for the right hip just five weeks later. I was worried I’d have to be admitted to an old people’s home but I recovered well. Of course, I also had all my friends and family to rally around after me. With my new hips, I felt like a new woman and now there was no stopping me!
During my recuperation, I had Stephen take me shopping.
‘What for, Mum?’ he said, wondering what on earth an eighty-two-year-old woman could possibly want or need so desperately.
I looked up at him with a steely determination.
‘A pair of stilettos. I want a pair of stiletto heels!’
With Stephen’s help, I pushed my feet into my new shoes and pulled myself up out of my wheelchair. I refused to back down or give up.
‘For God’s sake, Mum!’ Stephen gasped as my legs began to tremble and wobble beneath me. ‘Sit down now! You look like bloody Minnie Mouse!’
A smirk spread across my face because I knew that I wasn’t out – not by a long chalk.
I’m convinced all my years training as a professional ballet dancer did my hips no favours. In fact, when the surgeon finally went in, he found that both my hips had completely disintegrated. But bones or plastic, my new hips had given me a new lease of life. I knew I wouldn’t be able to do everything I’d done before, but at least I would be able to enjoy a pain-free life and all it had to offer.
One day, following my final hip operation, I was given some literature on how look after my ‘new hips’.
‘You’ll need to call Social Services to see about receiving some occupational therapy. You’ll also need some disability aides. Here, this is the number you need to call,’ the medical worker said, handing me a leaflet.
Later that afternoon, I picked up the telephone and dialled the number. The gentleman on the other end of the telephone was very helpful indeed.
‘I just need to take your name and address,’ he asked.
‘Yes, of course. My name is Pat Stewart.’
Suddenly, the man interrupted me.
‘Sorry, did you say your name is Pat Stewart?’ he asked.
‘Yes, why? Do you know me?’ I asked, wondering if he was related to someone in my village.
‘Oh, yes, I know who you are,’ he laughed. ‘You’re the famous Pat Stewart. You’re the girl in the spotty dress!’
My life had finally gone full circle.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Putting this book together has been a wonderful experience for me. It has helped me to relive and revisit many happy times in my life, both on and off stage. Firstly, I’d like to thank my husband, Johnny, who is sadly no longer with us. Johnny was, and will always be, the love of my life, and I miss him every single day. Thank you for being my husband, my confidant and my rock. I shall never forget you.
I’d also like to thank my children for their support and encouragement. To my son, Stephen, who gave me my computer: it has enabled me to recall all my thoughts and memories and put them down on ‘paper’. To my daughter, Rachel, who has listened to me endlessly, and to my eldest son, Peter: I love you all dearly. I’d also like to thank my gorgeous grandchildren and great-grandchildren for being such wonderful individuals and for giving me my new role in life as Granny Pat.
To Veronica Clark, my ghostwriter, who has helped guide a fellow Yorkshire lass through her (sometimes) murky and distant past. Thanks, Veronica!
To Andrew Higgs, my computer expert, who taught me how to cut and paste on a computer, and Dai Ellis – my old neighbour – who helped me during the initial stages. Also Cerri Greenslade, for giving even more computer advice to an eighty-two-year-old silver Internet surfer!
Thanks to Kay Davies, who spotted the mistaken identity on BBC’s The One Show, and to Pauline Thomas of Wick, who realised the potential for a book when my true story first came out.
Finally, thanks to Bert Hardy for taking the iconic photograph on that blustery morning on Blackpool promenade and for making me The Girl in the Spotty Dress.
Bonny Baby – Pat’s modelling career began at the age of three.
Dancing Queen – Starting out in the world of show business.
Beautiful Ballerina – Performing at the age of seven.
Gala Queen – Pat opened Purston Park in Featherstone, West Yorkshire, in 1949.
Queen for the Day – Opening Purston Park.
Bikini Babe – Pictured in Pat’s first season at Blackpool aged just seventeen.
Some Like it Hot – In a promotional shot.
Chorus Girl – Pat (standing centre) in her first pantomime in Leeds.
All that Jazz – Pat (second left) in her second season with the Tiller Girls at Blackpool.
Let’s Face the Music and Dance – Pictured at Blackpool’s North Pier (second left).
Beach Babes – The photographic contact sheet from Pat and Wendy’s photo shoot with Bert Hardy on Blackpool beach, in 1951.
Blonde Bombshell – One of the many promotional shots Pat has been in over the years.
Hi de Hi – Pat performing in the summer season at Butlin’s in Clacton.
Stranded – On the beach in Africa, Pat with the other performers after they were left dancing for their supper.
Bohemian – Pat in her outlandish raffia shoes in a shot taken in Blackpool in 1950.
The Good Old Days – With Barney Colehan at Yorkshire Television Studios on the set of The Good Old Days.
Career Girl – Pat pictured in Glasgow during the 1950s.
Dynamite Duo – Nick and Pat Lundon in a promotional shot.
Whirlwind Romance – Pat and Johnny pictured on their wedding day.
Land of Song – A newspaper cutting featuring Pat and Johnny, dated 21st July 1961.
Ooh La La – Pat in a promotional shot taken in London.
Laying the Foundations – Pat and Johnny in a 1960s promotional shot
.
Blast from the Past – A letter from Lord Lofthouse written to Pat.
Older and Wiser – Wendy and Pat with photographer Bert Hardy on London’s River Thames in 1987, re-enacting Bert’s famous photograph from the Picture Post.
Blackpool Tiller Belles – Pat (left, end of line) and the Tillers pictured on Blackpool’s North Pier.
© Popperfoto
COPYRIGHT
Published by John Blake Publishing Limited
3 Bramber Court, 2 Bramber Road,
London W14 9PB, England
www.johnblakebooks.com
www.facebook.com/johnblakebooks
twitter.com/jblakebooks
This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those may be liable in law accordingly.
ePub ISBN 978 1 78606 165 2
Mobi ISBN 978 1 78606 166 9
PDF ISBN 978 1 78606 167 6