The Songaminute Man
Page 7
Then he picked up his coat.
‘I’m finished,’ he said and walked out.
Jack was immediately fired and Ben tried to persuade their frontman to come back. But it was too late – as far as Ted was concerned, the damage had been done, and the band never heard from him again. He might have wanted fame and fortune and the chance to sing onstage every night, but he wasn’t being spoken to like that. Some called it principled, Hilda saw it as Ted being his usual stubborn self; Iris saw it as him sabotaging something he felt deep down would implode anyway. Either way, although Ben was devastated and hoped Ted would cool down after a few weeks, he also wasn’t about to beg him to stay. Eventually, another singer got in touch about joining them, Ted was replaced and the band went on to perform for another twenty years.
Ben admits it was never quite the same again:
‘I just wish I’d asked him to come back. Looking back, that’s the one thing I regret. He was great. I can honestly say – and I’m not just saying this – that there’s no one else I’d rather be in a band with. He was a great bloke – with everybody. Everybody loved him. He was never a big head – to be honest, I don’t think he realized just how good he was. He really loved his life, you know.’
After a few months, Ben heard that Ted was doing Saturday nights at The Cora, so he went down to see him. Ted was doing what he loved best – running the show, getting people on the stage to sing, as well as doing the occasional spot himself. The place was packed out and as soon as Ben walked in, Ted flashed him his biggest smile. Never one to hold grudges he was delighted to see his old pal. Ben had planned to ask Ted to come back, but he could see he was in his element and so he left it – between the two of them there was a lot of male pride at stake. Ben readily acknowledged that the band was nothing before Ted joined, that he was one of a kind and just had that ‘something’. The band made a lot of money; Ben certainly found that his wife’s reservations fell by the wayside once she realized it had paid for their house. But Ted didn’t have those kind of responsibilities outside the band – he very much lived each day as it came and didn’t expect anything to last.
‘For years I always wondered what happened to him,’ says Ben. ‘It was just when I was watching the TV last September when that video came on of him singing in the car. I nearly fell off my chair. I shouted to my wife, “Bloody hell! That’s Ted McDermott!’’
‘You know, I really hoped he would make it someday. Well, he has really – it’s just that he’s 80, though…’
Chapter 6
It was 1968, Ted had left The Starliners and was back to doing his Saturday-night gig at The Cora and the occasional night at different clubs, but it wasn’t regular work and he wasn’t making as much money as when he’d been in the band. He had lots of odd jobs during the day to ensure he could pay Hilda his board, and there was no doubt that Maurice and Hilda loved still having him at home, but they would also pass many a night sat in the front room, each in their respective armchairs, worrying about him.
Of course, the younger siblings still lived at home too, but some of them were still at school, unlike Ted, who was in his thirties and seemingly lost. He’d gone from being at the top of his game, singing in one of the most popular bands in the Midlands, to making ends meet with irregular jobs and irregular hours. Maurice would be reading the paper and Hilda would be sewing something for one of the many grandchildren they were welcoming into the family and she couldn’t help but wonder when, or even if, she would be doing the same thing for Ted. He might have been following his passion, but as far as they were concerned, he was also their firstborn, 32 years old and living at home with no car, no girlfriend and no regular job. His brothers and sisters were all settling down around him and he seemed to be, at best, stuck, at worst, going backwards. On top of this, Ted began to smoke like a chimney, which drove his dad mad, as he thought it was a total waste of money.
Ted’s younger brother Fred (now married with a good job as a builder and his own car) came up with a brilliant solution to the transport problem and decided he would drive him to the open mike nights. It meant Ted could not only save money on getting there (because Fred refused payment), but also earn the maximum possible. Despite leaving The Starliners, Ted was still in high demand and knew he had to capitalize on that. But what became very apparent to Fred was that Ted wasn’t charging nearly enough for his set. He set the price as low as six or seven pounds for his booking, when he was worth double that – both in terms of talent and compared to the competition.
Ted was never pushy when it came to getting onstage – more often than not he’d let other singers go on before him, which often meant he’d be last on the list. But if the compère was taking too much time warming up the crowd, Ted would sometimes end up not singing at all. In reality, he needed a manager to deal with the business side so that he could just get on with the singing, but Ted also wanted to be his own man. With time his family had all come round to the idea that singing was the only thing Ted really cared about. Fred could see it everywhere they went, especially when he drove him around to the auditions. Sometimes they would be in small clubs and there would be a queue round the block when Ted belted out a classic like ‘Mack the Knife’.
Fred appointed himself as Ted’s new manager and was in charge of the bookings, taking him around to the many ‘shop windows’ where entertainers would perform for the club secretaries. He initially started charging the clubs six or seven pounds for Ted to do a spot, but then when he saw the number of secretaries queuing up to book him, he decided to up it. ‘How much yam charging for the Mill Lane Club?’ said one.
‘Ten quid, mate,’ said Fred.
‘Ten quid – that’s a bloody lot, ay it?’ the guy replied.
‘Ah, well. He’s worth it, ay he? Why yam standing in the queue for if you don’t wanna pay it?’ said Fred.
‘We’ll pay it. Will he do two twenty-minute spots?’ said the guy.
Fred became a shrewd negotiator and decided that planning was all. He made friends with all the entertainment secretaries at every venue, bought them a pint as Ted performed and wowed the crowd, and then, once they were bowled over, he would land the killer punch and tell them Ted’s fee had doubled and he wouldn’t be going anywhere for under £20 if they wanted him to come back. He would have it all lined up perfectly for when Ted finished his set, handing him a drink and filling him in on what to say when they approached him for another booking. They agreed that Ted had to ask for £22 and accept £18 when they inevitably bartered him down, which was much better than the measly £9 he was then charging.
Fred felt delighted with the hard bargain he was driving, but also with the fact that his big brother was finally getting paid what he deserved. It was about damn time as far as he was concerned.
But the brothers’ differences were too great for the good times to roll for ever. It was after one of Ted’s legendary performances, with everything nicely lined up for him to request the new higher fee, that the entertainment secretary Jimmy came straight over to congratulate Ted and ask if they could book him again for six months’ time. Ted was delighted and didn’t even blink when he gave his answer of ‘nine quid’ to the inevitable question: ‘What sort of money are you looking at next time?’
Despite feeling grateful for all Fred’s hard work in raising the price and being bowled over by how much the queuing crowd was prepared to pay to hear him sing, Ted just couldn’t ask people to pay double the price they’d paid before. He knew it made perfect business sense and that, in order to sing for a living, this was what he had to do, but he couldn’t. Fred says: ‘Our Ted would pour his heart and soul out on that stage, it was something inside him that he wanted to share with the world, but he was so daft when it came down to the hard cash. He just wanted to sing for free!’
Fred was livid, and vowed never to take Ted anywhere again. His brother was a law unto himself and he was sick of seeing Ted sell himself short.
‘What’s up, our Fred?’
He wasted no time in reminding him that he needed cash to look the part and also take some of the strain away from Hilda – who still washed and ironed his shirts when he could pay for them to be laundered if he had money. Fred’s parting shot was: ‘That’s where the bloody money is’, pointing back to the club and adding, ‘You singing. And you won’t bloody ask for it!’
He dropped him off and never took him again.
After this Ted made his own way around some of the clubs doing gigs, but although he was still a popular choice for many of the clubs, the fact that he didn’t have a car meant he was limited to how far he could travel. The brothers made up but Fred despaired and, privately, so did the rest of the family. The singing was all he had, so why couldn’t he really make the most of it? Hilda was also preoccupied by the fact that, since Iris, there really hadn’t been anyone special in Ted’s life.
One weekend after a particularly heavy-drinking Friday, a few friends from The Cora came to the house with the intention of persuading Ted to come out with them to a house party hosted by a well-known local musician in Dudley. Eventually, they sweet-talked him into reluctantly tagging along. He was glad he did. It was there he met Janet Cann. Janet had been involved in showbiz since she was a child. Her dad played the accordion and encouraged both Janet, who sang, and her sister, who played the vibraphone, to go onstage. But all that Janet was really interested in was singing in a band. She was ten years younger than Ted, but the fact she was a performer instantly made her intriguing and they talked for most of the night. They agreed to meet up later that week when Ted had a gig on. It was on this first date, as the band struck up and Ted opened his mouth to sing, that Janet instantly in love with his voice.
Janet had a day job working as a secretary at the then ATV in Birmingham, but, like Ted, she performed at dancehalls around the Midlands, singing with the Don Trent Dance Band. They loved the same music and eventually decided to bring their shared sound together by setting up a vocal duo – ‘Mac and Jan’ – doing gigs around the Midlands, with Janet’s dad taking over Fred’s role and driving them back and forth. Things quickly became serious and Ted took her home to meet the family almost immediately. Like Iris, Janet came from a small family and marvelled at the closeness of Ted’s large brood as they bantered in the kitchen and finished each other’s sentences. But, despite all Ted’s affection and his love of romantic gestures, she would complain to friends that they didn’t actually ever go on a date – they either sat in watching TV with his family or went down to the club and spent the evening with a big crowd. Romance seemed in short supply as far as Janet was concerned, especially as Ted would often talk of ‘beautiful’ Iris – perhaps not ideal courting behaviour when you’re out to impress someone new! ‘Looking back on it now, we were both nursing broken hearts. I’d just came out of a relationship and it was obvious he was still in love with Iris,’ says Janet.
Janet also noticed that Ted seemed to have an agitated energy he couldn’t control that manifested as mood swings. They dated for two years until she felt forced to end things. In her mind there was no plan, no romance – only singing. Ted didn’t seem interested in their future together and she wanted some stability. In that whole two years she didn’t even know what he did for a job during the day or whether she was coming or going. She just wanted a normal relationship and felt there was only room for one love in his life – and it was singing. ‘We’d walk around the park singing together, then sit on a bench planning what we’d sing at the next do we’d go to,’ says Janet. ‘But then he’d just come round unexpectedly some nights saying we had a gig and we had to leave right there and then. I just got fed up with it.’
Yet again, Hilda and Maurice found themselves quietly discussing Ted’s inability to settle down. It was as if he was holding himself back, and the sad thing was that, deep down, Ted knew it, too. He was melancholic and it was difficult for him to find the joy he so desperately wanted. His relationship with Janet became a casualty of that – on the surface she was perfect and she even shared his musical passion – but he just couldn’t get it together.
The next few years were dark times for Ted, and the family worried about him. He still did the occasional gig at The Cora, but other than that, Hilda had no idea where he worked or what he did half the time. He started wasting his money on soft bets and endless games of pinball that paid out £10 or £15 a time, and he was losing himself day by day. He would spend whole afternoons sitting in front of the TV, puffing on a cigarette. Hilda and Maurice retreated to traditional roles – she fussed and tried to make everything OK and Maurice became irritated and unsympathetic with his son’s fall from grace. As far as he was concerned, he’d had a damn good life and had let it slip through his fingers. Ted’s brothers and sisters varied in their sympathy – unimpressed by his gambling and the fact he spent the mornings in bed while they all grafted. Hilda was ever-protective: ‘Yam remember! You wanna stop and think. He used to turn all of his wages over when he first started work so most of you lot could eat!’ She was still proud of him and wouldn’t put up with any criticism.
In typical Ted fashion he always stepped up in a crisis and there was no bigger test than the death of his beloved father. In many ways Maurice led a textbook life for the times – he had worked hard all his adult years in a steady job, married the love of his life and given his children every opportunity he could. He had lived in the same house for nearly thirty years, brought home a good wage and enjoyed putting the world to rights down at the local club over a pint with the friends he’d known since he was young. He needed very little in order to enjoy life, except to have Hilda by his side, which is exactly what he had until the end. Mercifully for Maurice (but heartbreakingly for Hilda), when the end came, it was speedy.
Maurice hadn’t been feeling himself for a few months – he was exhausted with grumbling stomach pains that wouldn’t go away. He went back and forth to the doctor and was given various types of medicine for the cramps but nothing seemed to work. He was coming in from work and collapsing in his chair, going straight to sleep without much appetite or enthusiasm for anything. He began to lose weight and look drawn and Hilda was beside herself – no matter what she cooked he wouldn’t eat and that wasn’t like Maurice – he always had room for his favourite pudding. Eventually, Hilda took him back to the doctors and they referred him to the hospital for an exploratory operation the following month. The day arrived and she got up early to pack his overnight bag and lay out fresh clothes, just as she had done every day of their married life. They said their goodbyes and she waved him off from the front-room window. Maurice told her to stay at home while one of the boys drove him to the hospital. He reasoned there was no point in her pacing about there when she could be in the comfort of her own home. Hilda knew that one of the kids would come by as soon as there was any news and she wasn’t worried. It was only a routine operation to see what was causing the pain, after all.
She took her mind off things by cleaning, while Maurice was taken into theatre by their daughter Jane, who decided to stay and wait for news. After what seemed like no time at all a nurse ushered her and the rest of the siblings into a side room to tell them how things had gone. It wasn’t good news – they had opened Maurice up to find the cause and seen that he was riddled with stomach cancer. There was nothing to be done apart from closing him back up and letting the family say their goodbyes.
It was all happening so quickly and someone had to go and break the news to Hilda, who was in so much shock that she couldn’t get to the hospital in time to see her beloved husband. In the end Maurice never did come round from the operation and everyone knew the end was near. As Jane says: ‘You just know when it’s the last moment
s.’
They all knew it was bleak, but believing strongly that while there’s life, there’s hope, they all rallied round. Ted decided the best thing he could do was put on his usual cheery front; he came breezing into the ward and went straight to the top of the bed. He sat down and stroked the hair back from Maurice’s face and kissed him on the forehead, just like Hilda had done to them all every night she had tucked them in bed when they were little. Ted did the same thing, whispering: ‘Yam alright, Mac.’ And just like that, Maurice died. All the children were sure that he let go at that moment because he mistook Ted’s hand for Hilda’s and thought she was there, saying a final goodbye. He was 63.
Everyone was shattered; it was like the heart had been ripped out of the family. Hilda was inconsolable. She had no idea what to do without Maurice – they had spent thirty-eight years as a pair, seeing through the good and the bad times. Knowing that his body was at the hospital was heartbreaking as they had barely spent a night apart, but the children all stayed with her. They couldn’t help but be terrified by how diminished she already seemed, averting her gaze from Maurice’s empty chair in the front room.
Ted was determined not to show his upset and didn’t shed a tear, not in front of the others anyway. His motto was: ‘It dow matter if you’re going to a wedding or a funeral – hold yer head up! Don’t let ’em see! Dow let ’em see!’ Ernie and Colin on the other hand cried non-stop in those early days. Maurice was buried in Heath Lane Cemetery in a plot big enough for two and the house was heavy with grief, long after the funeral and wake, which was attended by people far and wide. He was loved – whether you’d met him down the pub, watched him sing or worked alongside him, he was known as a true gent. People said they didn’t make them like him any more and that is most definitely how Hilda wanted to remember him.