The Songaminute Man

by Simon McDermott

  At the back of the farm ran the railway marshalling yard. Hundreds of steam trains would park there overnight, and coal, which was being mined in the local pits, would be shipped around the country from the yard, while metals and goods that had been made at the factories nearby would be held in huge stores waiting to be transported. It was at the yard that all the big steam engines were repaired before they went back into service, and the railway line that passed through the town was the link connecting Wednesbury to the rest of the country – from Crewe further north to London down south. You could smell the oil before even setting foot in the yard – it was always in the air whatever time of year, but the scent was even stronger in the summer heat. All the carriage repairs took place at night and the tinkering of machinery and testing of engines could be heard long after the residents nearby had gone to bed. It became the reassuring sound that signalled bedtime for Ted and his brothers and sisters.

  Maurice was close to all of his children, but he also worked long days, accepting all the work he was offered so that he could bring home as much extra cash as possible. It was Hilda who ran the household. Every Friday, Maurice would bring home a small brown envelope containing his wages and Hilda would take out what she needed to keep the house going, giving him back whatever was left for spending money that week. Maurice wasn’t a big drinker, but he’d often let off steam down the local pubs, getting up and singing whenever he could.

  Much of the manual work came from the two huge factories that were the epicentre of manufacturing around Friar Park – Elwell’s and the Deritend. Elwell’s made gardening tools and The Deritend Stamping Company was the forge where Maurice worked, which dated back to 1900. Its creation meant lots of jobs for men like Maurice, who lived locally, but there were also a number of people needing a wage who travelled in from across Wednesbury to work in such a steady environment. It was hard graft, but it was a company known for a dedicated work force, long hours and a strong team spirit. Throughout the day, each time the hammers dropped, the boom could be heard right across Friar Park.

  Every Christmas there was a party for all the kids and, when Ted was 5 years old, Hilda took him down to the club to join in the festivities. It was the first time he’d been to such a big party, and Hilda had sewn him a smart suit especially for the occasion. When they got there the room was full of young children running around; Christmas decorations brightened up the usually bleak, grey room and there were tables heaped with sandwiches, cakes and trifles. For Ted, this was heaven and he immediately found a small gang of kids to play with.

  ‘Our Maurice will pick him up at five,’ said Hilda to some of the women who’d been brought in from the factory floor to organize the party.

  ‘Behave yourself, Ted,’ she shouted as she left the room.

  The whole afternoon went brilliantly. It was something that Ted would remember all his life. There were traditional party games like pass the parcel, musical chairs and pin the tail on the donkey, a visit from Father Christmas, and enough sweets and trifle to sink a ship. At 5 p.m., just after clocking off from work, Maurice picked Ted up from the party. The young boy was tired out, so Maurice carried him all the way home.

  As soon as he got through the front door at Kent Road, Ted woke up. ‘It was brilliant, Mom!’ he said the minute his eyes opened, and he went on to excitedly talk about the afternoon he’d had, sparing no detail. Soon after teatime, Ted was fast asleep again, so Hilda carried him upstairs, helped him out of his clothes and tucked him into bed. He was asleep the minute his head hit the pillow and Hilda carried his suit down to the kitchen, ready to wash it. She did the usual check of his pockets.

  ‘What the hell is this?’ she shouted. Her hands were full of jelly, cream and custard.

  The suit was ruined. She was fuming.

  ‘Have you seen this?’ she shouted at Maurice, as if it was his fault. Maurice shook his head. He had no idea why Ted would do something so daft and he was angry that perfectly good material had been wasted.

  The next morning Hilda was waiting in the kitchen when Ted came padding down the stairs, seemingly oblivious to what he’d done. ‘You’ve ruined that suit, you have … putting all that food in there. Didn’t you have enough to eat at the party?’

  Ted looked distraught but Hilda suddenly realized what he’d done. ‘I only brought the food home for the others, Mom, so we could all share it because they didn’t get to come to the party.’ Hilda’s heart melted. She gave him a huge hug, explaining to him how he shouldn’t put jelly and custard in his pockets again, no matter how much he wanted to bring it home to share with the others.

  The McDermott household was a thrifty one and, like Hilda, Ted was resourceful and would find unusual ways to help out. Sometimes, he and his friends would sneak through the fencing at the back of the house, and past terrifying Grumble, so that he and the other boys from his road could make their way down to the railway marshalling yard and pick coal that had been delivered for the steam engines from the sidings. It was something that would be repeated every winter and, as the boys got older, more and more planning went into it. ‘You could hear them all in the middle of the night,’ says Ted’s younger brother John. ‘Us younger ones would all be tucked up in bed and then you could hear Ted, Dad, Maurice and a couple of their friends going through the fence at the end of the back garden.’ Getting through the fencing was a mission, but once they were in, it was a free-for-all. ‘It’s what got us through those winters,’ says John.

  They were canny too: one particular day the lads became aware that there was a copper down the road stopping locals suspected of taking the coal. So they decided to fill up some bags and hide them in the woods until the next morning when one of them could come back to collect them. It was a well-known fact that, if the copper did catch you, he would tell you off and confiscate the coal – before keeping it for himself.

  ‘There also used to be a big tree at the end of the garden and, one winter, some of the blokes from the street all helped to saw it down,’ says John. ‘The whole street shared that wood for months.’

  As they got older, Ted and his gang spent every minute together and as soon as he arrived home from school, he would be straight out the door playing with the other children in the street. The boys were always getting up to mischief and, once they were old enough, the dares and tricks became more challenging. The gang – Joey B, Joey G, Kenny, Walter and Georgie – would head straight for the woods at the back of the garden to build dens or climb their favourite tree. It was thick, old and rotting and, one afternoon, it was decided that the tree was coming down. ‘You got your axe, Kenny?’ Ted shouted at his stocky school buddy striding towards him between the oaks. Kenny grinned, swinging the axe casually, even though it was bigger than him. It was his father’s and he wouldn’t have been too pleased if he’d known his son had taken it. Joey G was with Kenny, his very own axe slung over his shoulder. Joey B was already at the foot of the tree. He was the best climber of the lot of them: ‘Give him a leg-up, Walter.’ Walter dutifully did as he was told and the rest watched as Joey shimmied up to act as lookout.

  The group set to work, taking turns to swing at the trunk. It was a test of pre-pubescent strength as much as it was a shared challenge. Ten minutes in and they were sweating like crazy. This was much harder than any of them had imagined and yet no one wanted to give up. A shout cut through the silence – ‘Copper’s coming!’ – from Joey, their lookout. One second of staring wide-eyed at each other, the next they were scrambling through the undergrowth to get away.

  Joey B watched from the top of the tree as his friends scarpered. Where were they going? Oh, hell! He jumped. He heard rather than felt his leg break. The next confused thought – before the agony set in – was that he’d only told them he’d seen their mate Cooper coming. Joey B had no idea how long it took his mates to realize he wasn’t trailing behind them; eventually they came slinking back to find him rolling around on the ground, breathing through the pain and begging to be taken to
hospital.

  Injuries withstanding, the boys would knock for each other and then go off the beaten track, mostly finding places they shouldn’t be. One day that involved heading to the back of the woods, behind the football pitches, where there was an isolation hospital for people with infectious diseases. Patients with tuberculosis, smallpox and diphtheria were tended to by nuns; all the Wednesbury children were banned by their parents from getting too close. There were even rumours it was haunted. All the more reason to play knock and run … or so thought Ted. Although one of those days he wasn’t quick enough and one of the nuns caught a glimpse of him as they all knocked on the door and sprinted away. She marched to the house and told Hilda everything, meaning that Ted was rewarded for his daring with a smack from his mum and a stern warning of what would happen if he ever did anything like that again.

  Smacks weren’t rare: Maurice and Hilda were loving but strict. People sometimes assumed that children from big families could get away with anything, but that wasn’t the case with Ted’s family. His parents were caring of course, but if any of the kids stepped out of line they’d come down on them like a ton of bricks. The kids knew that when they walked out of their front door they were representing the family, so they had to look smart and behave. Some mothers used to say, ‘Wait till your dad gets home!’ – but Hilda wasn’t like that. She’d tell them off there and then and once they were disciplined, that was it; there was no waiting around until Dad got home to give them a hiding.

  The first nine years of Ted’s life were set against the threat, and then the reality, of war. The young boys would often hear the distant roar of engines and, a few minutes later, they would look up and see the skies had turned black as the bombers flew across to Germany. When Ted was small, Hilda and Maurice did all they could to keep things normal for the children, but the stark realities were impossible to hide and the constant threat of bombing was the main source of angst for the adults, even if the children enjoyed the drama. At the back of the house a small air-raid shelter had been built with care by Maurice just before the war started. Whenever the air-raid sirens went off, Hilda, Maurice and the elder McDermotts hushed the babies and placed them gently in drawers that they covered with blankets while the rest of the family squeezed into the shelter. As she always did, Hilda would stand on the doorstep shouting for all the kids by name, until every single one of them came running down the street and flying into the shelter. Once they were all safely inside she would get in herself, satisfied that everyone was accounted for.

  But life wasn’t always that dramatic and, even if the war did bring stress for the adults, the McDermott household was still one of routine, where everyone was expected to pull their weight. All the children had a job for the week that they needed to finish before playing out. Whether it was helping out Hilda in the kitchen, cleaning the carpets, folding the washing, clearing the garden or doing errands, everyone mucked in and did their part. Ted’s brother Fred remembers that on a Sunday, Maurice would be around to help with Hilda’s chores. His way of distracting himself and the others was to break into song, giving them rendition after rendition of old classics as they mopped, dusted, changed beds and beat rugs. ‘We couldn’t play out with our mates until those chores were done,’ says Fred. ‘You’d either have to take the rug up off the floor, give it a sweep, or clean the kitchen or sweep up outside.’

  The eventual arrival of VE Day saw the whole of Friar Park out in the streets in celebration. Ted and the rest of the gang stood in the street as all the adults from the entire neighbourhood brought tables and chairs out for a huge party. Cakes were baked, bonfires were lit and drinks were poured. Ted had never seen anything like it in his life. The atmosphere was electric.

  Normal life slowly resumed after 1945 and, to the children for whom air-raids and shelters were the norm, the war and all that came with it suddenly went away. The stories became fewer as people stopped talking about it so much and the old rhythm eventually returned to Wednesbury.

  Chapter 2

  The veil of war eventually lifted and, although Ted was only young, the feeling of uncertainty the war had brought with it had a very real effect on him as it did many others. To Ted, everything was temporary, and it soon became apparent that he had to enjoy every single day. He started looking for signs of life beyond messing about in the woods after school with his mates. While Hilda and Maurice carried on with the normal day-to-day routine, the end of the war opened up a curiosity in Ted and, somehow, more seemed possible. But despite his dreams for something more, supporting his family was the priority.

  In his early teens, Ted took on as many odd jobs as he could handle, bringing in the extra pennies to help feed the still-growing family. He’d wake up at the crack of dawn to help deliver milk from the horse and cart, while every Monday he’d be wheeling an old pram around to all the women in the street, collecting their husband’s suits and taking them to a pawn shop in Darlaston. On a Friday he would collect them again so all the men could be suited and booted at the weekend.

  Around this time, Ted formed what would become a lifelong habit of trying out different things he thought would make him happy and give him purpose, with varying degrees of success. Like most other boys on the estate, he had a strong interest in football, but it was his love of music that was his true passion.

  This musical love affair began with Maurice taking the teenage Ted along to the local pub, The Coronation – nicknamed The Cora, one Saturday night. The Cora was a huge pub, built in the early 1930s when the rest of the Friar Park estate was still under construction. Back then in the 1950s it was packed every night – it had a smoke room, a kids’ room and a huge assembly room where bands could play. It was rough and ready but a magnet for local musicians and became known as the place to be. There he saw first-hand the magic of stepping up in front of the crowd and performing. Maurice would arrive like royalty, spend a few minutes chatting to his friends, and then be the first one up to sing. His favourite song was ‘Marta’ by Arthur Tracy and it was a real crowd-pleaser. By the end of his performance, the audience would be on its feet applauding. Maurice would then return to the bar, greeted by a series of backslaps and handshakes, before finding the drinks lined up waiting for him as Ted looked on in awe.

  Ted soon found himself walking in his father’s footsteps when, aged 15, he left school and began working alongside Maurice at the Deritend forge. Everyone in the family had traditional roles – men went out to graft and Hilda would prepare a big portion of something hearty for lunch, and it was sometimes Marilyn’s (one of Ted’s younger sisters) job to deliver it to the working boys, whose stomachs were groaning by midday. They all knew her down at the factory and would let her walk straight in – there was no Health and Safety in those days – and as she watched them eat she was bowled over by how hard the men had to work, with the sweat pouring off them from their morning shift. Years later she remarks: ‘All the men had sweated so much that, by the end of the shift, they could stand their trousers up because of all the salt.’

  The family work ethic was ingrained in Ted and he worked as much as he could, finally feeling as if he was earning his keep as well as bringing home a bit extra that he could spend on himself. He’d often work a 6 a.m. to 2 p.m. shift, come back home to Kent Road, then if there was extra work going, he would return to the factory and do the late shift until 10 p.m. At the end of the week he’d come home with his wages and hand Hilda the overtime.

  ‘Come on, Big’ Un, you’re a young lad, you need the cash!’ she’d say.

  But Ted would have none of it: ‘No, Muv, you need it more than me. You’re the one with all the mouths to feed! Buy one of the kids some new shoes. Our Jane could do with a new pair,’ he’d say, walking out the kitchen before she could say anything else on the subject.

  It was around the same time that Ted and his friends began to head down to the local church youth club, nicknamed The Shack. It was free entry most nights, but on special occasions, when the organizer, Mr Tur
ner, had booked a band or a singer, there was a small charge on the door. Those nights were like a military operation for Ted. He would pay a shilling to enter, then go to the toilets to pass his ticket to Joey B, who would do the same to Kenny and Walter as they crouched outside underneath the window, hands stretched out to receive the illegal ticket.

  On Saturday nights everyone made an effort to look the part, as it was the social highlight of the week for most of them – Ted’s brother-in-law, Tony, remembers:

  ‘All the boys wore their best suits and had their hair flattened down with Brylcreem. But however smart the crowd looked, it was Ted who always stood out. He’d walk in and command instant attention in his cream-coloured raincoat and white silk scarf. All the girls, whatever their ages, would swoon. He was the nearest thing to Dickie Valentine they’d ever seen.’ Even then Ted had the women in the palm of his hand without really knowing it; he just had a presence that made everyone stop and take notice.

  By now, Ted had stopped relying on Hilda’s make-do-and-mend policy when it came to his clothes. As he was growing up, Hilda had prided herself on making most of the children’s clothes herself, going down to Birmingham Rag Market, buying second-hand garments, washing them, unpicking them, then sewing them all back together so they always looked brand new. But for Ted, that all stopped when he began to take charge of what he wanted to wear and carved out his own sense of style. He’d inherited Hilda’s pragmatic approach to work and knew it was an important means to an end. If you wanted something, you had to look the part – that was half the battle.

  That applied to making the right impression at The Shack. It was a small place with plastic chairs and tables, nothing fancy or glamorous, but it was always full. Ted’s friends, however, were a different kettle of fish, and, unlike him, listening to the music wasn’t really their top priority. They were at The Shack for one reason only – and that was to chat up girls. This mission often backfired as they spluttered their way through most introductions and the girls soon tired of their boyish attempts at wooing and went off to laugh and dance together. There was a routine to every Saturday night, which started with trollies of tea and buns being brought round. Then the lights were turned down, the glitter ball switched on and the dancing began. Ted’s brother Ernie was always the first on the dance floor and soon both brothers became popular with the girls – Ted because of his looks and Ernie because of his moves.