The Songaminute Man

by Simon McDermott

Ted found living with the sadness very hard but when an advertisement for a job as an entertainer at Butlin’s came up, he was completely torn. On the one hand, he felt distraught at the thought of leaving Hilda, on the other he knew that Maurice wouldn’t have wanted him to wallow for ever, and it was time to move on. Hilda didn’t really leave the house as much as she used to. She was seeing less of her friends, and had recently been diagnosed with diabetes, which began to take its toll on her. Ted knew that seeing her fade away bit by bit every day would kill him, so being away was a way of pretending things hadn’t changed.

  It made financial sense too, as there would be free food and board, which meant he would save money on living and travel expenses. He wrestled with the dilemma for days and, in the end, after talking to Hilda, he decided to apply. Once he’d posted the application, Ted tried to put it out of his mind, because he knew that if he got the job then his life would change for ever. There’d be no more travelling for miles to small gigs by night and doing odd jobs he hated by day. Instead, he would perform in front of a huge audience every single night and he would live alongside other performers who were learning their craft. But he’d also be miles away from home, living alone for the first time. Although he’d spent time in the Army, it wasn’t far away and Ted had popped back to see his family every weekend. Working at Butlin’s would be completely different: he would be miles and miles away from home – plus, whenever he came home, he’d be confronted with the fact that Maurice was no longer there.

  Ted kept his application to himself as he didn’t want to tempt fate and he had no idea how long the process would take. Butlin’s was the place to go on holiday with your family at that time and prided itself on having ‘something for everyone’. Ted knew getting the job was a long shot, but, somehow, just applying made him realize how desperate he was for a change. A few weeks later, he got the letter telling him that he had succeeded and would be posted to Barry Island, in Wales. This was the start of a brand-new chapter and, after years of doing the same thing, suddenly he had no idea what was in store for him.

  Ted and Hilda didn’t really discuss the job in the run-up to him leaving, as she couldn’t stand the thought of seeing him go so soon after Maurice’s death. However, she also remembered all those late-night conversations with her husband about Ted and how worried they’d been, and she knew he would be urging him to grab the chance of change with both hands. In a way, he was realizing Maurice’s dream for his son: leaving behind what he was expected to do and pursuing what he loved. Hilda was proud of him for taking a chance. There were lots of goodbyes and everyone was sad to see Ted bid farewell; it was difficult, but it was also exciting.

  The Butlin’s holiday camp stood on a headland overlooking the beach and the small town and featured all the usual Butlin’s sights – the Pig & Whistle Pub, the Gaiety Theatre, ballroom, tennis courts, snooker tables, shops and dining room. There was plenty to see. The camp itself was a picturesque seaside resort, with uninterrupted views of the beautiful stretch of coast. Ted couldn’t believe it when he arrived – everywhere smelled of the sea and there wasn’t a factory in sight. He spent the first day or so breathing in deeply whenever he went outside, unable to get over how clean everything felt.

  Once he had settled in he realized that living away from home meant he had to make friends, and quickly, so he set about getting to know as many people as possible. One of the first people he met on the camp was Brian Ward – a.k.a. Wardie. He was a comedian and compère for many of the shows at the Gaiety Theatre, and a big friendly northerner who wouldn’t be seen without his tie.

  Wardie’s route into showbiz began when he was working, like Ted, in the Army. He was posted in Oman at the same time as comedian Bob Monkhouse was sent there to entertain the troops. His job was to accompany Monkhouse to and from the show and it was on one of these nights that Wardie got talking to him about how he too could get onstage. He boldly took Bob to one side and asked him: ‘So, Bob, if I wanted to do what you do, what’s the best way I could do it?’

  ‘Butlin’s,’ said Monkhouse.

  A few years later Monkhouse was doing a show at Butlin’s when he spotted Wardie in the audience. In the middle of his patter, he stopped.

  ‘Wardie?! What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m a Red now,’ Wardie said.

  They became great friends and would always have a drink whenever Monkhouse did a gig at any Butlin’s Wardie happened to be working at.

  Meanwhile, in Barry Island, as part of the on-site entertainment, the Redcoats would put on a weekly panto for the kids and Ted was in his element. Wardie would always play the baddie, scaring all the kids and screaming: ‘I’m gonna kill you!’ as he crept around the stage. Ted’s role was to come out of the woods dressed as Robin Hood in green tights, shouting in his broad Black Country accent: ‘Yam kids come with me. Yam safe now.’ He loved being the one to rescue them and threw himself into the role with great passion.

  The routine that Ted so badly craved was there right from the first day and the job as a Redcoat began from the moment he got up at 7 a.m. and went to breakfast. In a way it was the perfect job for a grieving son who didn’t want to deal with his feelings, because he had to be in character at all times and his role was to make people laugh and to make them happy – two things Ted had always been good at. After breakfast there would be time to chat to the guests and get to know them, competitions to organize, bingo, the donkey derby, It’s a Knockout style games, sports days, as well as performing daytime and evening shows. Everyone loved Ted, guests and workers alike, and he quickly gained a reputation as a hard worker.

  As ever, Ted managed to sing whenever he could and was often found on his break singing in the Pig & Whistle as well as doing shows in the Gaiety Theatre. Billy Butlin used to boast that the stage of the Gaiety was bigger than the London Palladium – by a mighty 6 inches! Each night it would be packed, with more than 2,000 people watching the show. It was a dream come true for Ted to be singing in a venue that size. The enormity of it got him every time and he would often imagine what his dad would have made of the whole thing.

  Being that bit older than a lot of the Redcoats, Ted was quite the catch among the staff and holiday-goers alike. He discovered a new-found freedom and confidence there. Perhaps it was the liberation of being far away from home and knowing that trouble wouldn’t follow him down to the local club, or maybe it was just the confidence of being a man in his mid-thirties. Either way, the stories of what went on are Ted’s alone.

  Whenever Ted had a day off, he would make his way back to the Midlands to see the family, no matter how brief it was. Every time he left feeling torn between looking after Hilda and taking on responsibility for the household and going out there and making his fortune – which would in turn bring in much-needed cash and make Hilda proud.

  At the end of the 1974 season at Barry Island, Ted and Wardie decided to go to London and look for work. They found some digs in Leytonstone on the outskirts – Ted having no idea about the city that he had just found himself in – and set about trying to find work in the Big Smoke everyone talked about as being the place to find fame and fortune. The problem was that they needed an Equity card (proof of membership of Equity, the trade union for performing artists), which Ted didn’t have, so the whole trip was a disaster and put him firmly back at square one in terms of his chances of West End fame. This meant it was back to the Midlands, still searching for work, doing whatever factory job he could find at the time and making ends meet as best he could. It seemed to Ted that he was the only one frustrated with the ‘one foot forward, one step back’ nature of the entertainment business and the impossibility of ever getting a break.

  But his luck was about to change. Come October, Ted was invited to audition for the Butlin’s Tour Show.

  The tour show was a shop window to help promote the entertainment programme at Butlin’s camps around the country. During intervals, the tour manager and his wife would walk around the audience handi
ng out leaflets and chatting to people about Butlin’s holidays, trying to persuade them to book up. It was a huge sales event. Well, that was the plan anyway. In reality, the lack of any decent budget meant that it was very much done on the cheap, with the acts doing their best to put on a knock-out two-and-half-hour show to various audiences around the country without much return or investment.

  The audition for the Butlin’s Tour Show took place at Butlin’s Minehead – a resort in Somerset, south-west England. Entertainers from across the country auditioned and one of these was Barry Bennett – a comedian and impressionist in his mid-20s who was already well known on the entertainment circuit in the Midlands.

  A couple of days before he was due to drive down to Minehead from the Midlands, he received a call from his agent asking if he could pick up Ted McDermott, who was also auditioning for the show. Barry lived on the Hyde Road Estate in Wednesbury – about three miles from Kent Road, where Ted was again living. So, the day before the audition, Barry drove round to Kent Road in his Rover 2000, waited outside Ted’s house in Friar Park and honked his horn. Ted came out of the house with a brown suitcase, wearing his smart blue suit, and with Hilda waving him off at the window. Despite both of them being in the business and living not far from each other, the two had never met before, but they soon got on, sharing stories about entertaining on the drive down to Minehead. When they arrived, they were both given chalets to stay in and told the auditions and rehearsals were the next day in the Gaiety Theatre on the camp.

  But when they got to the theatre, everything was in complete disarray. The organist was late, there was no music and nobody had brought any of the uniforms they were meant to be performing in. Ted turned to Barry and, under his breath laughing, said: ‘This is a shambles.’ Barry agreed.

  Like most people before they saw Ted come to life onstage, Barry had no idea how good he would be and just assumed he was another newcomer about to be thrown in at the deep end. Barry says: ‘Offstage, he didn’t seem like an entertainer and I remember thinking to myself, “This guy hasn’t got a clue what he’s doing.’’’ As they watched all the other acts nervously go onstage, Ted was relaxed and chatting away with everyone. But as soon as he stepped onto that stage he left no doubt about how polished he was as a performer. Everyone else climbed onto the stage and gave a little preamble about their act – but not Ted. He simply walked on, gave a nod for the music to strike up and began singing. He didn’t need to explain to anybody what his act was, he was his act. One of the things that stood out for those in the know was that Ted had the most tremendous phraseology and the ability to sing one sentence in one breath (something only the most accomplished singers like Jim Reeves and Frank Sinatra can do). There is no breathing between words as modern singers tend to do and it gives Ted’s voice that unique sound that everyone loved. The other thing that made him stand out from the rest was his understated stage presence and the fact that he didn’t move around – he could work on a three-foot square of carpet. It was all about his gestures and that was very, very Sinatra.

  After the auditions, the final team was selected and it was no surprise that Ted had made the cut, along with Barry, Dave Thomas as another comedian, Glenn Martin on the drums, Steve, a keyboard player, and Emma, a female vocalist (who was also to be the girlfriend of Glenn Martin).

  At the start of the tour, the Butlin’s uniforms that had been provided for the group were all the wrong size and Dave Thomas refused to wear his, claiming it looked ‘bloody ridiculous’. Instead, Ted, Dave and Barry wore the cabaret suits they’d brought from home, while the rest wore the uniform. Having spent a lifetime looking the part, Ted wasn’t about to compromise his style credentials for anyone, even if it meant going against the dress code. He had never really conformed and he wasn’t about to start now.

  Chapter 7

  The group were thrown together and were expected to put on a show that provided the ultimate Butlin’s experience there and then. But it was hit and miss at first as they were all very different and there was no one taking the organizational reins. After a few rehearsals, they decided they’d test out the show at the Pig & Whistle, and, to their surprise, it was a great success. But the gang soon realized they really needed another act to fill the show. Glenn Martin – the drummer of the group – announced that he was quite good with a crossbow and suggested that they create a new circus-style act – Egor and Gallia, The Magic Duo – that would bring an element of peril and drama. Glenn would go backstage and turn into the wild Egor, while the female vocalist, Emma, would transform into the exotic Gallia – a Russian siren. The audience were none the wiser, as they were completely unrecognizable. Gallia would stand in front of a blackboard with Pepsi cans or apples balanced on her head and a blindfolded Egor (guided by the sound of Gallia’s voice) would launch arrows at these items. Although the audience didn’t know it, Egor had a monocle within the blindfold and a small hole so that he could see before he fired off his life-threatening arrows.

  It was a dangerous act that always drew gasps from the audience. Ted refused to compère, as he truly didn’t think it was safe, and spent the whole time it took place feeling terrified that someone would die. He left it to Dave or Barry to get the audience going and instead concentrated on his own act. It turned out he was right to be anxious as one night Glenn quietly whispered to Barry: ‘I can’t see anything.’

  Barry stalled the show a bit, again asking for quiet from the audience. You could hear a pin drop in the theatre.

  ‘Ten, nine, eight…’

  Again Egor whispered: ‘I can’t see anything.’

  It turned out that the room was so smoky, Egor’s monocle had fogged up inside his blindfold – he was totally blind and had a room full of people believing that was the whole point.

  ‘Ladies and gentleman, we do require complete silence for this act…’ said Barry, stalling again.

  ‘Hold on – I think I can see now,’ whispered Egor.

  Everyone on the stage was terrified. Gallia later said that her life flashed before her very eyes and Barry kept his tightly shut as Egor fired the arrow straight at her head. When they all managed to look up, the Pepsi can on top of Gallia’s head had split in two – but so had the top of her actual head – and she had rivers of blood pouring down her face.

  ‘Just a little scratch, ladies and gentlemen, just a little scratch…’ announced Barry as Gallia was guided off the stage, cursing Egor as she went behind the curtain and nearly fainted. They were all consummate professionals, however, and, after a quick clean-up backstage, the show went on, going down as one of the best nights of the tour.

  The tour travelled around the country for a number of weeks – but it was so badly organized that it made no geographical sense. One day they would be down south and the next day they’d find themselves having to go back up north to another theatre, only to have to come all the way down again. Initially they all travelled around in a minibus together, staying at whatever digs they could find. But because of the terrible planning, some of the group decided to bring their own cars and caravans as a way of guaranteeing themselves somewhere to stay. It was a much more reliable way to make sure that they always had somewhere to stay.

  Dave Thomas brought along his caravan, which Ted and Barry stayed in when they could. Ted and Dave had the beds, while Barry always slept on the floor. Glenn and his girlfriend Emma (Egor and Gallia) also had their own trailer and they would all drive in a convoy in order to make sure they arrived together as an act. Although he wasn’t exactly used to living like a king on tour, even Ted was shocked the first time he saw the size of Dave’s caravan parked outside one of the venues – it was so tiny that he had no idea how they would all fit inside. But any concerns about comfort soon disappeared when it became clear they were all determined to have as much fun as possible.

  Glenn’s trailer was literally that – a trailer attached to the back of the car. The rest of the group didn’t believe that Glenn and his girlfriend would actually
be able to sleep in it. But sure enough, when they dropped open the back of it there was indeed a mattress and some blankets. Then out popped a duck and a dog – two pets that Glenn and his girlfriend always brought along with them whenever they went touring. It was bizarre to say the least!

  The tour was a steep learning curve and anything but glamorous – they certainly weren’t living the high life and the money was poor – in fact, some weeks they wouldn’t get paid at all. Often they didn’t shower for days on end, and they had to dream up all kinds of ruses to make sure they were fed (it was lucky they all had good imaginations). Sometimes they’d dare each other to come up with the most elaborate ways of finding food. Dave used to take Ted and Barry to the local Co-op and ask for as many food samples as they could, playing up to the fact that they were Butlin’s Redcoats living on the breadline. They soon found themselves with handfuls of cheese, black pudding and whatever other titbits they could get their hands on, which they would carefully smuggle back to the trailer, trying not to drop anything along the way. This would keep them going throughout the day and then in the evenings, the club would either feed them or they would have to nab a packet of crisps from behind the bar when no one was looking. In the mornings they would each take turns going to houses to beg for eggs or bacon so they could have something to eat.

  The group would often park up and sleep in the car parks of the clubs or theatres in which they were playing. Because it was winter, they’d find themselves cracking open the ice on buckets of water so that they could shave. A hot bath and clean clothes felt like distant memories, but they didn’t care – there would be plenty of time for showers later. For now, they were free and living their dreams: it didn’t get any better than that.

  One night after their show in Oxford, Ted and Barry decided to take the last train back to Wednesbury as they had a couple of nights off. It was a freezing night, but after Dave had dropped them off at the station, they found that they’d missed the last train. There was no way of contacting anyone else to get a lift, so they decided to try and find somewhere warm to sleep. The station had no heating and was arctic, so the pair ended up wandering round Oxford trying to find shelter, eventually finding themselves in a block of flats and huddling in a first-floor alcove. They were huddled together and just nodding off when, about thirty minutes or so after they had got comfortable, the caretaker threw them back out onto the street. They carried on looking around town, trying to find somewhere to keep warm, and eventually headed back to the railway station. They had just enough money to get them back to Wednesbury, so couldn’t spend it on anything else. Luckily, one of the railway men took pity on them and let them stay in a workman’s hut. The duo wearily trudged up the steps and as they opened the door could have cried with relief: there was an open fire roaring and they were immediately given tea and toast to thaw them out. The next day they both caught the first train to Birmingham, then walked the seven miles back to Wednesbury. As soon as he was home, Ted pulled on the usual mask, regaling Hilda with tall tales of exotic tour life, all the fun times he was having and great people he was meeting. She adored Ted’s stories and would tuck herself into the armchair waiting to be entertained – it was the only time she’d managed to smile since Maurice had died, and she lived for those visits. Sometimes Barry would pop in too for a cup of tea and they would make a fuss of Hilda.