The Songaminute Man

by Simon McDermott

  Whatever the scenario, Ted always retained a love of a good suit and a few weekends after his first homecoming, he arrived wearing a full tweed outfit, complete with shooting stick from one of the officers. Again, Hilda nearly had a fit when she saw him and screamed: ‘Get that off! You’ll be in the Jankers [Army prison]!’

  But nothing seemed to faze Ted and, pretty much every weekend the officers were away, he’d come home with their best clothes – a different outfit every week – and go out in them to the local clubs, enjoying feeling like a millionaire and having the time of his life. After a few months he even turned up in a full evening suit – black tie, white shirt, even the hat. One of the lads in the Army with Ted says: ‘It sounds bad, but it was all done with the tacit blessing of the officers. They had great fun letting us think that they didn’t know what we’d been up to when we put it all back every Monday morning.’

  It became a regular thing, especially if Ted was taking Iris out on a Saturday night. Once Hilda got over the shock and worry that Ted would end up in jail for stealing, she would get emotional every time she saw her son all dressed up. Maurice was less sentimental about the whole thing and would look up from whatever he was reading to simply say: ‘Teddy Bloody Big Head. Look at him, he acts like he owns the bloody street!’ But secretly he was full of pride and would go down the club, telling all his mates how well his son was doing and that he was destined for great and exciting things.

  Freddy Hyde became part of the family, working his magic particularly brilliantly on Hilda. He would knock on the front door with a small gift and a winning smile, planting a kiss on her cheek. Once, he arrived and held his hand out, saying: ‘Come on, Mrs Mac, get in the car and I’ll take you for a ride up to Worcester.’ Off they went, with Freddy chauffeuring Hilda to the shops, helping her pack the bags and then driving her the long way home so that they would be seen cruising through the streets in a smart car, imagining the twitching curtains. Ted would also impress Iris with the car when they went out. Saturday night was their time together and they would still pop down to The Cora, where he had started to be greeted as a bit of hero, especially if he gave in to the persuasion of the crowd and took the microphone for a few songs. They were halcyon days, topped off only by the sense of pride the family felt as the day of his passing-out parade arrived.

  Hilda was bursting with pride at the fact that Ted had passed his training and was serving his country, so there was much excitement when they found out that the parade would pass through the centre of Wednesbury. All the younger children were full of anticipation, not least as their school would be closed in honour. When the big day arrived, the main street completely shut down and people gathered along both sides of the pavement – it was almost like the end of the war all over again, with everyone coming together in a moment of celebration and solidarity. Hilda put on her best dress and made sure all the kids were as smart as they could be. They were all warned to be on their best behaviour and do their brother proud. Brother John was there on the day: ‘I was aged about 7 at the time and all of us went down to see Ted, including Iris. Mum made sure we were in prime position. All of a sudden we could hear the brass band. It was getting louder and louder as they came down Lower High Street. I was trembling with excitement.’

  As the soldiers approached, Hilda kept shouting for everyone to look out for Ted. All of a sudden he was right there in front of them and the whole family was shouting ‘Ted! Ted! Ted!’ and cheering him on. As he passed, he gave them a wink and a smile and he was gone – it was all over in a flash. John turned to speak to their mother and saw her wiping away a few tears.

  ‘Why yam crying, Mom?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not crying, I’m happy,’ she said.

  Ted was feeling elated, too. Hearing Hilda, Iris and his younger siblings all shouting his name gave him the same buzz he felt when he got up onstage.

  Afterwards there was a big do at the officers’ mess with food and drink and family members mingling. Ted introduced Iris to the rest of his mates and everyone stood around making small talk. After a little while one of the officers started talking to Hilda and eventually ushered her through into a separate room. She was greeted by an officer she hadn’t met before.

  ‘Mrs McDermott, how do you do?’

  ‘Very well, thank you,’ said Hilda, smiling.

  ‘I wanted to say what an absolute credit your Ted is to you, one of the team and what a cracking singer, that voice!’

  They both stood there making small talk, but Hilda could sense that he was leading up to something. Deep inside her she knew what it would be and she dreaded it.

  She asked him outright: ‘Yam sending him abroad?’

  ‘We might be, Mrs McDermott,’ he replied.

  Hilda paused for a moment, aware of who she was talking to, and replied: ‘I hope you don’t. He’s got thirteen brothers and sisters and I rely on him.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he said.

  So that’s how Ted didn’t get posted abroad when he was in the Army. Instead he became a batman – a soldier assigned to a commissioned officer – and his chores involved cleaning, bringing food at mealtimes and sorting his clothes as well as doing any errands. In effect, he managed to have a role that was important but which involved none of the danger.

  It seemed a bit of a charmed Army experience and a world away from some of the hardships suffered by others. But his role did reinforce Ted’s obsession with being meticulous about his appearance and well-turned-out – his shoes always had an extra shine and he was never ready for the day unless he was wearing a tie and a sharply ironed suit.

  The way Ted had managed to include the thing he still loved the most – music – in his work life was a brilliant stroke of luck. As the months went on, his confidence and reputation grew and so did Iris’s pride in her boyfriend’s talent. Things between them were going well. They were officially ‘steady’ and so would often spend evenings out with Hilda and Maurice. During Ted’s weekends off, the four of them would make their way to The Cora.

  From 7 p.m. every Saturday, people would have to queue to get through the doors. Most weeks there was a skiffle group playing – a group of local musicians (realistically this meant anyone who could play a homemade instrument) that featured Desi Mansel on the drums, Ted’s younger brother Ernie on the base (which was actually a tea chest with lengths of string tied to it), and anyone who could play the piano. A guy called Teddy Price also sung. He was cross-eyed with big ears and bucked teeth and whenever he began to sing he’d shout out to the females in the crowd: ‘Look at the eyes, girls, look at the eyes.’ Another singer there was Kenny Kendrick, who lived next door but two to the McDermotts. He fancied himself as a bit of an Al Jolson, and always carried a pair of white gloves in his pocket in case he needed to sing. These nights stood out for Iris, who adored being part of such a large and loving family: ‘We all used to get dressed up, me, Ted, his mum and dad, and make our way down to The Cora. Ted was always dressed immaculately. Those nights were some of my best memories from when I was younger. It was packed. Maurice would always be the first one to get up and sing – he had a wonderful voice – he’d always sing, “You’re Nobody ’Til Somebody Loves You”. Ted started singing that song, too. Later on in our relationship, he used to say to me, “If I can’t see you, look at the clock at 11 o’clock and I’ll be singing, “You’re Nobody ’Till Somebody Loves you. And I’d have to play that record then.’

  It was Iris who first realized that there was more than a hint of anxiety behind the apparently confident Ted just before he stepped onto the stage. The stress would come on just as he was gearing up for his turn in the spotlight, and he would suddenly start rubbing his nose. It became a telltale sign that the nerves and excitement were threatening to overwhelm him. Iris understood that it was less about being shy (after all, Ted could stir himself to step up onto the stage in front of total strangers) and more like an energy that he couldn’t control. And once she started noticing this
anxiousness before Ted’s performances, and as she got to know him better, it became clear that offstage he could easily become downbeat and gloomy without an impending performance to look forward to.

  Ted worked hard to keep these feelings to himself, especially as it really wasn’t the done thing for men to discuss such things in the 1950s. He also knew, once he left the Army and began working, those feelings couldn’t make an appearance. Deep down Iris knew that he needed love, affection and reassurance to keep him on an even keel and she worried about him, but nevertheless they had a volatile relationship and he sometimes had mood swings that tried her patience.

  Eventually, after three years together and despite the rows, Ted decided that he wanted to make Iris his wife. Perhaps he thought it would help bring a much-needed calm to their relationship. Ever the romantic, he planned his proposal meticulously and to add to the sense of occasion and drama, he decided to do it around Christmas 1956. Hilda was delighted that her eldest son was settling down – she liked Iris being around and she was practically part of the family anyway. But having a ring on her finger didn’t necessarily put an end to their problems or Iris’s concerns: ‘That ring was in the garden more times that it was on my hand,’ she laughs. ‘He would get very jealous. I think two weeks after he gave me the ring he told me he wanted it back! His friends used to come up to me and say, “Oh, you look nice, Iris,” because they knew it would wind him up. I’d tell him not to be silly but he would sulk afterwards like I’d been flirting with them!’

  Iris and Ted did get engaged and stayed that way for years – certainly more than most couples who had decided to spend the rest of their lives together, but they finally split up in the early 1960s when Ted was 24 years old. All these years later, even Iris isn’t really sure why their great love affair came to be over.

  ‘Why did it end? Oh, I don’t know. We had one of our usual arguments – he was very possessive of me and always worried I’d go off with another bloke. But this argument was just a lot bigger and it lasted a lot longer than the rest and we never got back together,’ she says. ‘I started seeing my husband soon after. Ted disappeared and my husband came along – nice car, wonderful job – he had everything and I was married to him twelve months later. I had grown up with nothing and I wanted to have a different life.’

  Ted’s version of the break-up was very different and, as Iris says, steeped in his fear of Iris leaving him for another man. According to Ted, both of them were holding down two jobs – Ted had left the Army by then and gone back to working double shifts at the Deritend from six in the morning to ten at night, while Iris was working at Elwell’s during the day and at the Hippodrome cinema in the evening. One day Ted came home from work early and Hilda asked him if he was ok. Ted told her that he didn’t feel right and so had finished work early. Hilda cooked him something to eat, he had a bath and then he decided to go into Wednesbury to see Iris. He drove down on his pink scooter – a DKR Dove – and waited outside her work to surprise her. But instead, according to Ted, he watched Iris come out of the cinema and get on the back of the motorbike belonging to one of Ted’s friends in the Army. They had words and the engagement ring went over a garden wall at the bottom of Rydding Lane. Ted didn’t tell anyone and went straight to bed as soon as he got home.

  The next day, Hilda got up to make breakfast and start the daily chores. She went straight for the boys’ bedroom and pulled open the handmade curtains, where she found Ted still in bed. She had no idea why he hadn’t gone to work and was just about to start quizzing him, despite the fact he was pretending to be asleep, when suddenly there was a loud bang coming from the front of the house as the gate slammed shut and someone started hammering on the front door. Hilda peered through the curtains in the front bedroom and saw that it was Iris’s nan making all the noise. She went down to calmly open the door and started to speak, but didn’t get a chance to say a word before the woman launched at her:

  ‘I wanna see your Teddy. I wanna know what he’s said to our Iris. Hers crying her eyes out and she won’t go to work.’

  Hilda still had no idea what was going on and shouted upstairs for Ted to come down and explain himself. Ted came down the stairs in just his trousers, put his bare feet into his shoes, calmly put on his jacket and walked past the two women stood on the step. ‘I dow wanna talk about it. I’m going,’ he said.

  That was the last time Hilda and the family saw Ted for over three weeks. Everyone was distraught and worried – even Iris who told Hilda she hadn’t seen him but didn’t give the whole story about the row and the concerns she’d had before they split up. Then one Sunday dinnertime, Ted’s nan came over and told Hilda that he was safe with her. The whole road must have heard Hilda exhale with relief. ‘Just give him some time,’ she said.

  The next day Hilda went over to Walsall to try and persuade Ted to come home, but as soon as he saw her coming up the path, he walked out the back of the house, too embarrassed to be seen like that by his mum.

  Eventually, after a number of failed attempts, Hilda finally managed to persuade him to come home. She warned everyone back at Kent Road not to say a word about Iris to Ted and on the night of his return, while the rest of the family were sat in the front room, Ted opened the front door and went straight upstairs to bed without speaking to anyone. He stayed in his room for days. It was a low point for the whole house to see Ted in that state. His sister Jane says: ‘After a while he got over it, though – and that’s when he really started to enjoy his life.’

  But no one really knew until years later how deeply the end of the relationship had affected Ted.

  Chapter 4

  On the face of it at least, things soon went back to normal for Ted. His National Service had ended after a lively eighteen months, and everyone was relieved to see him getting on with things. But what they didn’t glimpse lurking beneath the happy-go-lucky demeanour was discontent: Iris’s observations about Ted’s tendency to feel anxious were well founded. To Ted, everyone else seemed to have their lives sorted – jobs, partners and children, a clear life plan, but his structure had fallen away. He didn’t have the discipline of the Army, he didn’t have a house or a car or anything really; all he owned were his records. Ted wasn’t so much driven by making money or having material goods, his enjoyment in life came purely from making people happy – from entertaining and looking after everyone, which was unusual at a time when things were tough and the world was very much ‘every man for himself’.

  The late 1950s and early 60s were a relatively prosperous time across the country, but nevertheless making ends meet was generally very hard for a lot of normal families. Ted still witnessed Maurice and Hilda watching every penny and he continued to make sure that any extra he had went into the household. Leaving the Army had been a blow for him, and returning to the factory, seeing all the old faces still there, plugging away to make ends meet, felt like taking a step backwards. His brothers and sisters were growing up and one by one leaving the family home. Life slipped back into a familiar pattern: the only thing missing was having Iris as his girlfriend.

  That said, it was impossible for Ted to fully close the door on that relationship, mainly as Iris would still come round the house to see Hilda. The two women had formed a strong bond and neither was ready to cut the other off completely, despite the break-up. Ted tried to take this in his stride and was relieved that these visits would often take place before he finished work. However, there was the odd occasion when Iris’s perfectly timed exit didn’t quite pan out. It all came to a head about a year or so after the couple had split up and Ted came in from work to find Iris still there. He went into the kitchen to put the kettle on, as he did every night he came home, and handed everyone a mug of steaming tea, everyone except Iris.

  ‘Where’s mine?’ she asked.

  ‘In the kettle. You can make your own,’ he replied.

  The hurt between Ted and Iris still ran deep in him, so he clutched on to a new daily routine to bring him order and
structure. He wasn’t remotely interested in finding a new girlfriend and instead started spending time with his brothers – down at the club and out and about. His brother John remembers: ‘After he came out of the Army, Ted would spend hours polishing his shoes – so much so that you could see your face in them. If I was going somewhere with the school, he’d show me how to tie my tie. He’d say, “Come here, you. You ay going out like that. I’ll show you how to do a tie,” and he’d sit there and show you how to do it.’

  Friday night was the real performance though – everything had to be absolutely perfect and even his handkerchief would be pressed and placed across the top of his jacket pocket in a neat line.

  Before he went out, Ted would make sure that Hilda had given him the once-over: ‘What do you think of this, Muv?’

  ‘Looks alright, Ted,’ she would reply.

  Then he’d head back upstairs to finish getting ready. A few minutes later he’d be back in the kitchen with the handkerchief refolded in a different style – this time with three points to it.

  ‘You think this one looks better?’ he’d ask.

  ‘Well, yeah, it’s alright,’ Hilda would say, not really paying attention.

  This performance would usually repeat itself until Maurice looked up from his newspaper and bellowed: ‘FOR CHRIST’S SAKES, it’s a bloody handkerchief!’ But in spite of this, he was delighted to see his son looking the part. He’d watch Ted walk out of the front door and up the path with quiet delight, often turning to his wife and saying: ‘Look at him, our Hild. He walks down that street thinking he’s a bloody millionaire! He might not have a penny in his pocket but he’s singing and whistling to himself like he hasn’t got a care in the world.’

  A well-turned out appearance became one of Ted’s defining features. His quest for the perfect ‘look’ often meant that if he didn’t have the outfit he wanted, he would simply borrow from his brothers in order to create the right ensemble. His brother Colin was the usual target: ‘I remember one time I’d just got paid and bought myself a new top from Burton’s one Saturday. I’d come home, “had my tea and then Ted goes, “Col, can you lend me half a quid?” I said, I can, but yam gotta start looking after your money a bit better, our Big.” Anyway, me and Micky Felton went up the Adelphi and then afterwards we popped into the Star and Garter for a drink. Who was sitting at the bloody bar? Our Ted, smoking a little cigar with half a Guinness … and wearing my bloody new top. I didn’t say anything and asked him if he wanted a drink. The next day I asked our mum, “Did Big have my new top on last night?” “No,” she’d say, and would always cover up for him. He could do no harm in her eyes!’