Benny Hill

Despite the best intentions and best efforts of his father to dissuade him from a career on the stage, the natural clown was in Hill’s genes, he revelled in the buzz an appreciative audience’s laughter gave him, and the glamorous prospects were more than enough to attract a wide-eyed teenager. Along with his older brother, Leonard, Hill had run through his collection of vocal tricks – playing Crosby, Wilton, Durante, Buchanan and the Ritz Brothers in their double act depicting three different radio broadcasts: BBC programming, Radio Luxemburg and American commercial radio. The climax had Benny being bashed over the head with a gong – it was that sort of show. These performances were for charitable events for the Fellowships Supporters Council, but for Leonard, the future lay in teaching, eventually becoming a headmaster.

In 1938, at the age of 14, Hill landed his first semi-professional position with Bobbie’s Concert Party. His two spots were very short, and the deal was only struck because six performances were imminent and nobody else was available, but he relished the chance. Firstly, he would come on in woolly hat and heavy coat, toss a handful of shredded paper in the air to serve as a cheap snow effect, and chatter about the bad weather. A better characterization had him playing a vicar, wearing one of his dad’s collars back to front and made up with lipstick and rouge borrowed from his mother. Hill performed as ‘second comic’, and all the gags were stolen from various source material he had filed away. One-liners such as ‘The Young Mother’s Club seems to have a shortage of young mothers – in spite of all the efforts of myself and the Bishop’ were probably beyond the young comedian’s powers of delivery, but it was invaluable early experience – albeit short-lived, since after the six shows, his contribution was curtailed. However, he was learning the business. Offered the fee of 2s 6d or a bottle of pop and a taxi home, the young Benny took the money and walked!

Hill dabbled with a guitar group, The Hill Brothers, supporting leader Eric Vincent, fooled around with his guitar-plucking pal Tex Southgate, and hastily resurrected his Bobbie’s Concert Party turns for a talent show held at the Plaza Cinema, Northampton, in which he came second to a glass-eating act! He tirelessly refined his slapdash patter act with countless Sunday lunchtime shows at working men’s clubs. With an audience in the mood for bluer, rougher material than that approved of by the BBC, Hill found an eager reception for his Max Miller-style performances. Lacking the nerves that curtailed stage work when he became a star, and eager to learn about the business, he frequently visited the theatre, whether to see Charlie Poland’s band on Southampton’s Royal Pier or the grand revue at the Palace Theatre.

Despite his father’s lack of interest, Hill’s paternal grandfather was much more supportive. Although he was a stolid pillar of the local community, he was part-time critic for The World’s Fair journal, so he could secure free tickets to most productions, get the best seats in the house, create fever pitch in the expectant cast and excite a polite welcoming nod from the orchestra leader – young Benny loved all this. The Hippodrome Theatre was his ultimate treat – studying the various comedians on the bill, being enchanted by the illusionist Horace Goldin, and most importantly, delighting in presentations of popular travelling revue shows such as Naughty Girls of 1900, Scandals of Broadway and Ooh La La! The shows boasted a straightman who doubled as a baritone, a saucy soubrette, an older comedienne and loads of girls, but it was the star comedian that most impressed young Hill, and his lifestyle seemed like paradise: ‘I used to watch all these great fat women in the audience laughing at the comic and I would think how wonderful it would be to be that man. He was surrounded by pretty girls, he obviously got more money than anyone else and everyone loved him. They laughed and clapped when he came on stage – you could feel the warmth going out to him.’

Evacuated briefly to Bournemouth, Hill’s family moved from Westrow Gardens to temporary accommodation in Hounsdown, near the New Forest, although it wasn’t long before everything was back to normal at home in Southampton. Bournemouth had introduced him to the delights of a pierrot show, falling in love with the pierrette and instantly in awe of the star comedian’s physical comedy routines. The comic was Willie Cave, and he remains one of the unsung influences of Hill’s life. The acting bug was still gnawing at its latest victim, and he would often take the train down to Basingstoke to meet the star comedians headlining the Grand Theatre – now the glorious Haymarket Theatre. One such act was the Smeddle Brothers, who auditioned him, liked what they saw, and promised him a chance if anything presented itself.

He left school at the age of 15 without taking the scholarship certificate for which he was studying, and found employment as a weighbridge operator with the Phoenix Coal Company. He lasted in the job for just three weeks, and after the outbreak of the Second World War in September 1939, he supplemented his full-time job as stockroom clerk cum trainee manager for his local Woolworth’s store by entertaining in pubs, halls and air raid shelters. The shelter at Catchcold Tower rang to reheated music hall routines, and young Benny enthralled the easily delighted audience. During his six months at Woolworth’s, he was surrounded by a workforce totally made up of charming young ladies, lovingly calling him ‘Sonny Boy’ and smothering him with their California Poppy scent. Hill fell for the toiletries counter assistant, although most of his time was spent clearing up dog mess in the store, and he came to dread Mr Dean the manager’s yell of ‘Hill!’

To escape this and to allow him more time to rehearse his act, he took a job as a milkman with Harry Hann & Son’s Dairy for 28s a week – complete with Daisy the horse and a cart, an experience later immortalized in ‘Ernie (The Fastest Milkman in the West)’. Lodging with a Mr and Mrs Brown in Eastleigh, he began as an assistant milkman, and only secured that post because of war shortages. This was a step down from the promotional hierarchy of Woolworth’s, but that didn’t matter: his biggest thrill came from entertaining.

By 1940, one of his Woolworth’s girlfriends had suggested he join a local dance band, Ivy Lillywhite and Her Friends. Soon he was strumming a guitar, pounding drums, telling jokes and singing popular hits like ‘Who’s Taking You Home Tonight?’ and ‘Careless Love’, once receiving the hefty fee of 5s, and finally playing at the Spitfire Concert, Eastleigh. Hill introduced the technique of joking between numbers, and his comedy spots soon became hugely popular with the crowds, appearing at the local Conservative and Liberal Clubs. Basing his entire persona on his worshipped Max Miller, his stage attire consisted of a white felt hat with a sewn-up brim, loud blue-check jacket (which he had bought from the Eastleigh Co-op for 10s) and a garish red tie (which he cheekily brought into the act – ‘That’s all right dear, it’s just me tongue hanging out!’). This Miller-like rapport with his audience made up for his catalogue of stolen jokes, hastily written down during theatre trips, and his ad-libs marked him out as a promising fledgling comedian – allegedly, one night a lady was breast-feeding in the audience and Hill shouted out: ‘After you with that!’ He completely embraced Miller’s irresistible technique addressing the audience with friendly conspiracy, and Hill’s throwaway interjections of ‘Mrs Woman’ hinted at this attempt to emulate the affection of his hero.

At the age of 17, Hill took a life-changing decision, sold his beloved drum kit for £6, supplemented his savings with a few extra pounds from his father, and left home to try to become a full-time performer. His parents were totally against his gamble, but Hill was determined, and in September 1940, with the blue serge suit on his back and a few possessions packed in a cardboard suitcase, he made the journey to London. However, rather than streets paved with gold, the young hopeful found streets paved with used bus tickets.

Arriving at Waterloo, he made his way to Leicester Square, bought a copy of The Stage, and asked a policeman if there was anywhere outside the West End which had a few theatres in close proximity. Having the common sense not to go straight for the top, Hill was told that the Empress, Brixton, and the Streatham Hill Theatre were near each other, and he took the bus to Brixton. Sid Seymour and the Mad Hatters were in residence at the Empress, and Hill asked for Seymour at the stage door. He told Hill that there was nothing for him, but struck by the boy’s keenness, he pointed him in the direction of his brother, Phil Seymour, who was an agent currently presenting a show called Follow the Fun at the Chelsea Palace. The star comedian was Hal Bryan, and on a Thursday, the manager, a kindly man by the name of Harry Frockton Foster, listened to young Benny’s dream of turning professional, and told him to come back the following Monday, when there might be a position for him. Although he had enough money for digs, since he had no guarantee of work, Hill decided to conserve his money, spending the first four nights sleeping rough on Streatham Common, initially on the grass, eventually finding a slightly more comfortable place to rest his head in an unfinished concrete air raid shelter. He washed and shaved at the toilet in Lyon’s Corner House cafe.

On the Monday, he turned up at the office of producer Harry Benet at 11 Beak Street, Soho, and landed himself a £3 10s a week job with Follow the Fun, which was due to open that night at the East Ham Palace. Despite his ill-advised cocky attitude and Jimmy Cagney swagger, Hill clearly had something, but the offered position really was the lowest of the low. Informed that Benet’s star comic, George Lacey, had started at the bottom, he was offered the post of Assistant Stage Manager, with the promise of small parts in the show (later, he would typically joke: ‘I’m not an ASM anymore but I’ve still got the small parts!’). He was aware that this apprenticeship was going to be difficult. The stage parts would be very small, if any, and the job mainly involved humping props, baskets and scenery around, as well as looking after the ponies, monkeys and dogs involved in the ‘Pino’s Circus’ section. However, now in secure employment, he rented a room in an East End lodging house and revelled in the theatrical experience.

On his first night, he was shown how to use Leichner grease sticks and appeared as a policeman in a court sketch. In the finale, a patriotic tableau, Hill strolled on as John Bull (complete with a cushion stuffed up his waistcoat to fill out his physique) to shake hands with another player as Uncle Sam, culminating in a glorious flag-waving singalong of ‘Land of Hope and Glory’. The whole thing was a cheerful knees-up, from the cheerful arrival by stage prop boat to the important three-handed sketch concerning gaining a girl’s favours by offering her drink. Hill cropped up in this as well, naturally.

On the Wednesday night, he was setting up props for the next scene when he heard a pause on stage. Instead of the usual cross-talking double act based round the military call-up poster promotion ‘Go To It’, the star comic, Hal Bryan, had launched into a desperate-sounding barrage of one-liners. Instantly realizing that the straightman, who liked the occasional drink, hadn’t turned up, Benny, already made up and quickly donning a boiler suit over his policeman costume, took a deep breath, thought for an instant and went on. Although he had only heard the routine during the previous two nights, he managed to feed the opening remark, ‘Hello, Hal. Going to it?’ Bryan was off, answering ‘No, coming from it!’, and they completed the sketch without a hitch. One of Hill’s favourite memories was Bryan whispering ‘Thank God you’ve shown up’ on stage, and the young man came off with a huge grin of pleasure. Congratulated by all the crew and cast, as Bryan was leaving the theatre he walked over to Hill, put a 10s note in his hand and muttered: ‘You’re going to be a trouper, son.’

When Follow the Fun folded, Hill was retained by Harry Benet as baggage master for the pantomime Robinson Crusoe at the Bournemouth Pavilion. Principal comic was Walter Niblo, and the show-stopping speciality act was Gary Hickson tap-dancing on his xylophone – perhaps mercifully overshadowing Hill’s blacked-up, bone-through-the-nose antics with four chorus boys in ‘The Cannibal Dance’.

Hill enjoyed further less high-profile employment as firewatchman at Benet’s scenery workshop in Walworth Road, South London – an old haunt of young Charlie Chaplin. Some of his handiwork found its way onto the stages of the London Palladium and the Prince of Wales Theatre – where, less than a decade later, Hill would be headlining. However, in 1947 his fledgling stage career was going very nicely thank you – he was back on the road in a touring revue, Send Him Victorious. Starting with a successful run at the Hackney Empire, Hill found himself travelling round the country for several months, a different venue each week. Initially, snooker star Joe Davis was enlisted as an added attraction, but even without him, London dates in Camden Town and at the Brixton Empire went well. Further afield in the North of England, the company played the Victoria, Burnley, followed by the Salford Hippodrome.

Due to his wandering lifestyle, Hill’s call-up papers were repeatedly redirected but never caught up with him, until the military police finally tracked him down in November 1947 on the fourth night of Send Him Victorious at Cardiff’s New Theatre and dragged him away. One can imagine the farcical scene as Hill was arrested in the theatre, confused and complaining at the treatment, and carted off, under guard, to Catterick induction camp in Yorkshire.

During his war service, he became Craftsman A.H. Hill, No. 14332308 in the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers (REME). In later, more affluent, years, he was typically dismissive of his military career, explaining that his mechanical knowledge wasn’t sufficent to put a lavatory chain together, but all that enforced saluting certainly came in handy for his later character, Fred Scuttle. He underwent an intensive driving course (which he hated, and although fully licensed, he never drove in civilian life) and a six-week fitter’s course in Brighton before being posted to Dunkirk, just after D-Day. Although he never faced action during his time in France and Germany, he was continually in the combat zone. He became fluent in French and German, and the countries made an impression on him which remained throughout his life.

After serving with the Third Light Anti-Aircraft Searchlight Battery workshop at Arnold, near Nottingham, he was accepted into the Central Pool of Artists. He was pronounced A1, and during leave time in London visited the Mayfair headquarters of Stars in Battledress. Initially dismissed by Sergeant Charlie Chester with the regret that the organization had no need of scriptwriters, in spring 1946 Hill found himself stationed near the Grosvenor Square HQ, and three weeks later opened in the frightfully dated 1930s musical comedy revue Happy Weekend. Hill was the bespectacled juvenile lead, Riki, made famous in the West End by Steve Geray, but this was hardly the stuff servicemen wanted. The aspiring comic spiced up the dialogue with contemporary references and knowing mockery, building up the minor part of the barman with a self-penned song, ‘They Call Me the Yodelling Bar Man’, and stumbling through the delicate number ‘We Go Together Like Sausage and Mash, Bacon and Egg’ in heavy Army boots. It was perfect fare for the cramped Nissen huts that served as makeshift venues, but was somewhat lost on the vast stage of the Opera House, Calais, where they finally arrived.

He toured British military bases with the piece, and was finally sent through the Combined Service Entertainment (CSE) HQ in Hamburg and AEM in Lüneburg to start rehearsing a variety band show which he was to host. The list of stars who were discovered by services entertainment units during the war is lengthy and impressive, with Peter Sellers, Tony Hancock, Spike Milligan, Kenneth Williams, Harry Secombe, Jon Pertwee, Kenneth Connor and countless others taking the post-war years by storm following their experience of entertaining the troops.

Hill was confident from the outset that he was destined to be a star, while the stammering Private Frankie Howard, who was serving in the same unit, was full of the nervous doubts that were the trademark of his unique and timeless act. Both admired each other’s work, and they remained close friends, dying within hours of each other over the Easter weekend of 1992. Never fully coming to terms with Howerd’s depressive attitude, Hill’s total conviction that he would become a major star within months of leaving REME made for a fascinating contrast in the barrack room, but his self-assurance was dented when his clever, breathtakingly intricate linking banter between the acts was lost on a certain Major McGregor, who dismissed the effort as simply ‘not funny’ – hardly the most confidence-building review for a comedian. Hill’s solo piece was hastily cut from the show, and his compering links were delivered by McGregor himself.

Thankfully for Hill’s bruised ego, a young man by the name of Harry Segal was also watching, and was far more impressed. Segal, an old pro on the halls since childhood, spotted a raw energy in Hill’s comic performance that immediately struck him. Whisking the private off to the NAAFI for a cup of tea, Segal gushed with admiration, quickly explaining that he was running a touring military revue called It’s All In Fun. Segal took Hill on as stage manager, with assurances that the work would also include on-stage performance once the troupe moved away from the headquarters and the critical eye of Major McGregor. Hill slowly regained confidence, although he was never quite so ebullient as a stage personality again – indeed, it was a very hard struggle to finally coax him back on stage at all, with Segal leading him into the cockney knees-up finale, then a brief part in a comedy sketch, and finally, the five-minute spot he had performed previously. Segal literally ordered him onto the stage, but with justification – his sophisticated comic monologue, delivered clad in a silk dressing gown, received huge applause.

At the time, Hill and Howerd were still basing their delivery style on Max Miller’s, and naturally, with an audience of servicemen in the middle of world conflict, the material was expected to be as fruity, raucous and unsubtle as possible. Hill’s variety style of Miller-like bonding with his audience against the strict moral code of the authority figure was perfect for the situation, and is a technique still employed by comedians such as Ben Elton in his live performances.

Encouraged by warm reactions from his comrades in arms, Hill’s stage persona became stronger, and finally, during one of the last German shows, he finished to a standing ovation. Luckily, the audience included Colonel Richard Stone, in charge of Combined Service Entertainment throughout the whole of Europe, who became Hill’s life-long agent after the war. Stone also signed up former Captain Ian Carmichael from Hill’s unit, and the two performers were reunited in the 1959 war film Light Up the Sky! Hill’s Army days later came back to haunt him when a certain ex-Major McGregor approached agent Richard Stone to book Benny for a cabaret evening at his New Forest pub. Initially the star refused, finally accepting a massive £30 fee for a brief fifteen-minute turn. In the end, due to bad advertising of the event, no audience turned up, the show was cancelled and Hill was paid off with his fee in full. Almost immediately, he bumped into his old champion, Segal, in the Charing Cross Road. Segal was back in the business, but lacked the necessary cash to secure costumes for a prospective pantomime offer, so Hill gave him the required funds – exactly £30.

Perhaps the most formative moment of Hill’s military days came with a fumbled date with an attractive NAAFI girl by the name of Maria. Hill invited her out to the cinema, scraped together some money for a meal afterwards, and donned his finest clothes for the occasion. When he picked her up, she explained that another soldier had also asked her out, he was there as well, and the young lady suggested all three go to see the film. Understandably upset at this, the razor-sharp comic mind of Hill was working overtime. Turning to the other soldier, who was equally put out, he invited him to the cinema and left the girl standing, foreshadowing Hill’s reversed-sexual-situation comedy which would reach genius with his ‘The Collector’ parody, Mervyn Cruddy’s ageing chorus boy and the powerful female figures which would become so misunderstood. Whether it be Patricia Hayes during the BBC days or Stella Moray in the early Thames Television escapades, Hill delighted in defending himself against the predatory, man-eating vamp with sexual designs uncomprehensible to him. Right until the late 1980s, Hill planned to film the original, inspirational wartime encounter as it happened, but never got round to it – perhaps the memory was better reflected in other comic situations rather than starkly recreated.

When he was demobbed in autumn 1947, Hill gratefully received his £50 Army gratuity money, made a fleeting trip back to Southampton, and resumed his hunt for theatrical employment, journeying to the haven of returning military personnel entertainers, the Windmill Theatre in Windmill Street, Soho, with its famous nude revue. His first audition on returning home was for the Windmill’s Vivian Van Damm. Continually on the lookout for fresh, willing and, above all, cheap comedians to keep the theatre’s pledge to never close, Van Damm was happy to give newcomers a chance.

Military service and countless service shows had changed audience expectations of comic delivery, a skin as thick as a rhino’s was needed to withstand the reaction of the audience, who were much more interested in staring than laughing, and the comic became nothing more than a hasty distraction as the nude girls changed scenes. Many tried, but few succeeded, and for every career that Van Damm helped (Peter Sellers, Tony Hancock, Jimmy Edwards), there was disappointment for future comic stars (Spike Milligan, Bob Monkhouse, Norman Wisdom). Hill was one of the unlucky ones. Having written a new skit around famous Jewish/Irish tenors of the time, he failed his audition – indeed, he didn’t deliver one gag before being shown the door. The turnover of talent was very quick, and Van Damm had no time to waste.

In the autumn of 1947, Hill was down to his last 14s when he accepted badly paid and sporadic variety theatre spots. Living in a flat at 62 Ambler Road in Queensway, just fifty yards off Bayswater Road, London, sharing with two young ladies called Dorothy and Hazel, Hill performed at venues like the Tottenham Liberal and Radical Club or the Edmonton Working Men’s Club, earning £1 per turn or £1 10s for two performances. Terry-Thomas was the big star from the military training ground, and held court at a celebratory party for CSE folk, but nobody could touch the spiralling genius of Michael Bentine in Hill’s eyes – even years later, a gem from Benny’s own show would be subjected to the question, ‘How does it compare with “The Chair Back”?’, one of Bentine’s early routines.

Hill was still concentrating on lacklustre Max Miller-like material, teasing the audience with Southampton-based tales of his family’s bull-shipping, then expressing amazement that some thought it all bullocks. He was going nowhere fast, and with his Army payoff dwindling, no quality work and the depressing task of keeping cheerful, he decided to return home. Trying to convince himself this would just be a trip to see his parents, he secretly harboured the fear that his future lay as a bank clerk in Southampton. Having bought himself a ticket for the coach, he was advised there would be a two-hour delay, so, strolling to fill the spare time, he stumbled across the Biograph Cinema, Victoria, screening Danny Kaye’s classic comedy The Kid From Brooklyn. He watched the film, was captivated by Virginia Mayo (who isn’t?) and struck by the fact that Kaye was playing character comedy Hill himself could perform. With renewed faith, he tore up the coach ticket, returned to his flat, cooked his last two eggs, washed his last two shirts and was back in showbusiness with a vengeance.

At this stage of his struggle, Hill was still performing under his own name – billed as Alf Hill. His brother, Leonard, advised him that the name didn’t look very impressive on a theatre bill, and besides, it made him sound too cockney – like a third-rate Max Miller. The fact that at the time Hill was a third-rate Max Miller notwithstanding, the seed of radical change had been sown. He had already began peppering his innuendoes with impersonations and character comedy, delighting in rustic bumblers and Germanic fools, and delivering the beloved, corny one-liners through his own created characters rather than his breathless ‘self’ persona. Like Peter Sellers, Hill found it easier and more successful to encase himself in myriad hilarious characters and let them tell the jokes. He toyed with the stage name Leslie Hill, but felt it sounded like a tea dance pianist. With a lifelong respect for the American comedian Jack Benny, he first adopted the stage name Ben K. Benny, but this quickly became Benny Hill.

By now living in very cheap digs in Cricklewood and earning £1 per performance in working men’s clubs and pubs, the comedian travelled the entire London Underground system for his performances, and began to effortlessly fall back on cutting responses to rowdy hecklers (‘There’s a bus leaving in two minutes!’ – ’Be on it!’) and skilfully embarrassing punters who had to visit the toilet during the performance by asking them, ‘Could you hear us in there?’, gratefully receiving the stunned response ‘No!’, and finishing them off with: ‘Well we could hear you in here!’ It was a gag that Hill used shamelessly and frequently, even resurrecting it for a lacklustre Streetcar Named Desire sketch in his very last show from 1992.

With his pianist, Bill Randall, in tow, Hill travelled round London by tube and bus to each gig. It was hardly the glamorous showbusiness life he had expected during his days with REME. However, things were on the up and up. A few months after his demob he appeared in a Spotlight revue at the Twentieth Century Theatre in Notting Hill Gate in November 1947. Hill’s material was now more refined than the working men’s club stand-up fare he had peddled previously – he played character parts like the Dreadful Dancing Sisters, an alcoholic baritone, a Peter Lorre/Sydney Greenstreet two-hander, and most telling of all, an overtly cockney send-up of his own front-cloth routine. By parodying the form, his audience laughed at the old jokes in a knowing, deconstructed way. The bill also included Bob Monkhouse, and Hill’s performance remains typical of his late-1940s variety turn. Spotlight was used as a showcase for producers looking for new talent, so Hill received no payment, although he was quickly picked up for a BBC radio slot. Boosted by positive reactions, Hill once again tried his hand at a Windmill Theatre audition, only to receive a second rejection, before gratefully polishing his act round the working men’s clubs of Dagenham, Harlesden, Lambeth and Stoke Newington. Once in these early days he was incorrectly billed as ‘Bennie Hill’, but he didn’t really care as long as he earned enough money to pay for his next tube journey. Other performers like Max Bygraves and Bob Monkhouse would help out their friends, recommending Benny Hill if they themselves couldn’t make a date. He worked at the Metropole, Edgware Road, and enjoyed a week at Collin’s Music Hall, Islington, but this invaluable experience was as nothing compared to the hefty £5 a week he could earn.

By early 1948, Hill had graduated to more sophisticated, respectable ventures like entertaining after Masonic dinners, when he could pocket anything up to 3 guineas a performance. A week at the Kilburn Empire was a high point, while a five-times-a-night engagement in a Cine-variety Christmas show on Bognor Pier was less impressive. The show combined film and live entertainment, and Hill struggled valiantly to fill in between movie treats, but the bookings were pitiful and the run folded prematurely. To supplement these irregular earnings, Hill moonlighted the old working men’s club circuit as comic impersonator Bob Job – he gave his disgruntled audience everybody from Gordon Harker to Ned Sparks to Janet Gaynor, and the few pounds boosted his pocket without denting his reputation.

It was around this time that ex-Captain Richard Stone signed Benny Hill up as his client and eagerly presented him to the hugely influential impresario Hedley Caxton. Always on the lookout for interesting, funny and keen comedians with an appeal for the family working-class audience, Caxton’s forte was seaside variety show bills for the summer season market. His star name comedian was Reg Varney. Richard Stone did a convincing enough job promoting Hill to secure him an audition for a part in the up-coming revue. Primarily, the position was for supporting player and comic stooge for Varney, and Hill landed the job, notably beating a certain Peter Sellers, who left Caxton rather unimpressed by giving a straight rendition of a George Formby number on his ukelele. Hill, accompanied by his own guitar-playing, sang a self-penned calypso satire on the Atlee/Bevin government. It clearly blew the competition out of the water – sweetest of all, the rehearsal room was Mac’s, just opposite the Windmill Theatre, which had twice turned him down. As previously agreed, the winner bought coffee and cakes for Sellers at Velotti’s Cafe, nipped over to see Edith Piaf in Paris to celebrate, and returned home for his £14 a week summer season. Hill was headed for the bright lights of Margate.

This comic revue for 1948 enjoyed a hugely successful trial run at Cliftonville Lido, Kent, before a pre-season tour and the great opening at the Lido, Margate. Bursting forth with the jolly invitation, ‘Gaytime,/Let’s have a gaytime,/Gaytime,/Let’s have some fun!’, this was a real feelgood holiday experience.

Like a low-grade Sid Field and Jerry Desmonde, Varney turned on the campness with skill, brilliantly playing a terribly shy tennis player (based on the French champion Suzanne Lenglen), while Hill’s petulant instructor fed the laugh-lines with aplomb. Entitled ‘What the Deuce!’, Hill had crafted a wonderfully flamboyant part for his partner, allowing himself time to develop his own comedy through long pauses, disconcerted looks and innocent, innuendo-drenched comments like ‘Balls to you!’ Varney thought the teaming was inspired and many people considered Hill’s perfectly timed amazed facial reactions the making of the act. However, whether because this hired hand was outshining his star name or not, Caxton was left totally unimpressed by Benny Hill. Indeed, his solo spot, hated by Hill himself, was so badly received that the management’s unpromising reaction was that the man had no potential for comic stardom.

It was hardly the ground-breaking venture that Hill had hoped for, although he tirelessly worked alongside Varney for three seasons of Gaytime before they were given an impressive escape route. At the Royal Theatre, Bournemouth, cockney Reg was treated like a king by the holidaymakers, the performance played like repertory theatre, with five sketches for five different versions of the piece, and even the top-lining guest performers for this one stint, The Radio Revellers, couldn’t outshine the comedy team. There was a return performance for summer 1949 at the Cosy Nook Theatre, Newquay, although this time Hill was teamed with comic Ron Clark, while Varney was retained at Cliftonville. Back at the Lido, Margate, in 1950 with Reg, Benny continued writing gems for the team – notably an audience-threatening boxing skit which saw Varney flamboyantly swing his punch and send his glove shooting off into the audience – who said William Castle was first?

It was during the 1950 run of Gaytime that Hill made his first marriage proposal to a showgirl in another production in Margate. Hill was so embarrassed at the possibility of being overheard that he popped the question from a phone box, and the subsequent rejection was the first of several heart-breaking engagement flops. Years later, when Hill was the most famous comic on television, the lady in question invited him to reunite for a meeting with her dentist husband and family. Hill declined.

Hill was now based with friends Bill and June in Cricklewood, but it was a time of much moving, decamping to another couple’s tension-filled home, a lodging house in Finsbury Park, and finally, the packed Kilburn Victorian abode of Mrs Birkitt. However, towards the end of the decade his star was on the ascendant, and he was on the move to a better place to rest his head.

In 1949, he appeared in revue at Bolton’s Theatre, South Kensington, Chelsea. The payment was £7 a week, but the high prestige of these shows was worth far more. One performance was even attended by Queen Mary. Ferrier’s Searchlight cartoon caricatured all the performers involved – speciality act The Burt Twins, Latin-styled dancer Lucille Gaye, satirist Marcella Salzer, drag act Stanley Beard, forever limber Larry Drew, musical director Ann De Nys and her keyboard player Judith Dolman, glamorous singer Patricia Morne, and crooners Michael Harding and Eugenie Sivyer – highlighting the venue’s reputation for harbouring future stars and wondering who would be the West End hit of tomorrow.

For this hugely important run, Hill introduced a perennial favourite. Billed as ‘A gem of purest razz serene – Benny Hill as a “deutsche komiker’”, he took on the character of misunderstanding Toto the German. He would ram a hat down over his head to make his ears stick out comically, and ramble on about life, girls and London in the unique ‘Deutschspeak’ he had perfected during the war. Comically saucy with his talk of ‘Marble Arse’ and ‘Golders Groin’, Hill, never one to let ideas slip into obscurity, happily resurrected the turn for a 1980 edition of The Benny Hill Show on television. Accepting any offer that would allow his face to be seen around London, Hill even undertook cycling antics as compere for a bicycle exhibition at Olympia, and of course, he was always willing to judge a beauty contest such as for Blighty Magazine at the Albert Hall.

More structured, progressive work was offered with John Alexander’s touring production of the West End smash Montmarte, which had starred Alfred Marks and Paddie O’Neil. Once more teamed with headlining Reg Varney, Hill enjoyed a notable hit with the show during its November run at the East Ham Palace – their comic bumbling alongside Bill Gordon, Donan O’Dea, Audrey Cranston and Johnnie Downs in a super Continental show was far too good to miss.

In another rare appearance in pantoland, Hill appeared opposite Sydney Arnold, Rowena Gregory and Russell Thorndike at the Richmond Theatre for the December 1949/January 1950 season, while Varney was headlining at the Dudley Hippodrome.

Impressed by Hill and Varney’s work in Gaytime, George and Alfred Black hired the team for the autumn 1950 touring version of a successful Palladium revue, Sky High, which had starred Windmill graduate Jimmy Edwards. From the Chelsea Palace to Northampton, Varney and Hill worked the audience relentlessly. Again Hill was the stooge to Varney’s comedian, but he had another solo spot which Hill, once more, loathed with a passion. Later holiday audiences were rather more tolerant of the material, but certain crowds weren’t impressed, and this was the end of a beautiful friendship.

The problem, contrary to newspaper reports at the time of Hill’s death, did not lie between the two performers – indeed, Hill helped Varney struggle through a performance at the Royal Theatre, Chatham, just after he had heard of his father’s death. The two were bonding like never before, but the magical bubble was about to burst. Following a particularly disastrous performance of Hill’s solo spot in Sunderland, the crowd began to slow handclap and let the comedian walk off stage to the sound of his own footsteps. The manager, Mr Challen, was outraged, stormed off to the Black brothers, and the result was that Hill was told his solo spot was cut from now on. Hill was hardly besotted with the monologue and decided to leave the show. Varney fought to keep him but Hill was adamant – he was nobody’s stooge. Varney, who within a few short years would be shocked to see his old stooge become the first mega-star of this powerful new medium called television, struggled on through life in variety before, over a decade later, he hit the small screen big time with the comedy series The Rag Trade and, most notably, On the Buses for Frank Muir’s ‘beans on toast’-audience-geared London Weekend Television.

After this brief but eye-opening excursion into stage nightmare, Hill almost turned his back on a struggling performing career. However, he heavy-heartedly returned to what he had peddled before, developing his variety turn with impish, hand-rubbing delivery, impersonations and songs. Even an ill-fated attempt to interest George and Alfred Black backfired. Richard Stone presented an ambitious five-handed boxing sketch starring Hill, Ian Carmichael, Ian Wallace, Philip Dale and Reg Varney at Poplar Town Hall, London, which came to naught, although the performers all received £50. At least Hill was happy with the self-penned material he was performing, and the variety bill proclaimed him ‘Britain’s Brightest Boy’.

Writing reams of routines at the time, he continued in variety until the early 1950s, meeting Peter Charlesworth in his dressing room at the Alma Theatre, Luton, who was struggling to progress from often-unemployed musician to manager. Hill, displaying the kindness that often marked his private life, took Charlesworth on as his driver for six months, continually paying him well over the odds, and eventually he stood in as Benny’s straightman at Sunday concerts. However, the Sunderland debacle had seriously damaged Hill’s confidence and reputation, and his stage career never recovered. He made another attempt at pantomime with Dick Whittington at the Devonshire Park Theatre, Eastbourne, for the 1950 season, and enjoyed the summer of 1951 at Ramsgate, where bandleader Billy Merrin topped the bill, with singer Penny Nichols and comic duo Low and Webster in support. As well as his own spots, he would occasionally fill in for an ailing member of the double act. Hill was also writing a regular column for the journal Show World, a cheaper weekly alternative to The Stage or The Performer. Although he was never paid for these, his brilliantly topical gags kept his name in the limelight. Indeed, one comedian would collect all the columns and use them as material during his American assignments, where nobody could match their cleverness.

Although his stage career was faltering, by the start of the 1950s Hill had made a substantial impact on radio and was becoming a television celebrity. His fame didn’t deter stage performance completely, and his continued variety spots reached their zenith with a prestigious summer season on Wellington Pier, Great Yarmouth, for Billy Marsh in 1953. His variety masterpiece was an intricate performance of the Romeo and Juliet balcony scene – but on his own. Perfectly timed, it was a stunning and, above all, hilarious performance. Hill played the Finsbury Park Empire with singers Pearl Carr and Teddy Johnson, and his booking at the Chelsea Palace, immediately following the record-breaking stint of singer Dickie Valentine, broke the box office record. Hill even doubled for bandleader Joe Loss when illness forced him to pull out of concerts at the Metropolitan, Edgware Road. For a few week’ engagements around London, Hill flamboyantly waved his arms and let the band get on with it, playing halls, Sunday concerts, the Gaumont, Lewisham, the Elephant and Castle, the Brixton Empress, finally filling in for flu-ridden Larry Gretton with an A1 Jolson medley.

Another important booking for 1953 came from entertainment officer Dave Freeman, ex-policeman, newspaper employee, failed electrician (taking the job to remain in the London area, and quickly dropping out after almost blowing up Ben Lyon) and a regular in the Navy, who signed Hill for a Saturday dance cabaret spot at Winfield House, the US Air Force officers’ club in Regent’s Park. Chatting after the performance, Hill and Freeman found they shared the same sense of humour, and once he became successful on television, Freeman became Hill’s writing partner.

At the time, Hill was part of Bernard Delfont’s touring Showtime variety bill, with the new added attraction of television stardom thanks to The Centre Show, and receiving very positive responses from the audiences. One venue was the notorious Sunderland Empire, where Hill had been slow-handclapped off stage during the Reg Varney days. The all-conquering television star couldn’t resist peppering his routine with exactly the same jokes that had bombed just two years earlier. This time they received tremendous applause.

Although 1953 was a highly successful year on stage for Benny Hill, with television taking up more of his time, the lure of the boards was becoming less and less potent. Hill’s last major stage tour was to promote the first batch of television Benny Hill shows in early 1955. Television was completely reshaping his career – the beloved ‘Romeo and Juliet’ stage performance was replaced by a more risqué version of his Lady Isabel Barnett impression from The Centre Show (her ‘dress’ would slip on occasion). During the second half of 1954, he toured the provinces with a stage version of The Benny Hill Show, tuning his stock collection of comic characters, inventing new ones and, importantly, revelling in the renewed celebration of his work in light of small-screen success. In November 1954, he scored a major hit at the Hippodrome, Manchester. This was planned to be the culmination of his stage work before he fully concentrated on television. However, in 1955, Hill received a rare stage offer that even he couldn’t turn down. The West End came a-calling.

In 1955, the same year that saw the BBC launch the very first edition of The Benny Hill Show, Hill headlined in this spectacular West End Folies Bergère revue which ran for eighteen months at the Prince of Wales Theatre, but only after Richard Stone barraged his client with the prospect of working in the West End for the monumentally important impresario Bernard Delfont.

Never one to avoid obvious clever career moves, Hill scored a hit with Delfont (he was often photographed together with Delfont and his wife at Variety Artists’ dinners), and became a revue sensation. It was the biggest advance booking for any Bernie Delfont production, and the man himself brought Maurice Chevalier for the opening night. Also on the bill was fellow ex-star in battledress Tommy Cooper. For Hill, this was major work overload – Paris by Night, Ealing studios by day, and Shepherd’s Bush during any spare time! However, he was keen to take on this challenge, not least because he was using the old dressing room of one of his idols, Sid Field. Besides, Hill’s dream of being the beloved comedian surrounded by a seemingly never-ending line of glamorous girls had come true.

The sketches included the Michael Bentine-inspired ‘Male Fashion Parade’, with Hill as the embarrassed Digby and, in a nightmarish flashback to those dreaded times playing Sky High in Sunderland, a seven-minute solo spot. But now, he was at the top of his profession, a situation that wouldn’t change much for the next thirty years. However, even at this stage in his career, Hill was keen to drop out of stage work completely.

Hill cannily realized that many of his audience were coachloads of foreign tourists simply there to see some sort of show rather than Benny Hill’s performance. Indeed, the comedian noticed that most of these international eyes were focused on the scantily clad girls – a realization that, although it made him furious at the time, remained with him throughout his work and dictated the appearance of Hill’s Angels and visual material for the world comedy market.

Paris by Night: Val Parnell and Bernard Delfont. Prince of Wales Theatre, Piccadilly Circus, 1955, 6.15/8.50 p.m. twice nightly. Starring BENNY HILL with TOMMY COOPER and 30 girls (count ’em!).

Already stealing all his own material. A touch of the Noel Cowards before a performance of Paris By Night.

The Royal Command Performance, 1955

As a natural extension of his West End run, Hill was invited to perform before royalty in this, the most prestigious show of the year, in November 1955. Still packing them in for Paris by Night, Hill appeared early, to allow him to play both houses at the Prince of Wales and, in between, gallop across to the Victoria Palace for the royal appointment. In attendance were the Queen, the Duke of Edinburgh, Princess Margaret, the Queen Mother and Princess Alexandra. Fellow performers that night included Lena Horne, George Jessell and Johnnie Ray.

With West End success under his belt and his own BBC television series soaring, Hill still continued to tread the boards, nurturing his comic characters and allowing them to mask his nervousness on stage. Bob Monkhouse recalled an occasion in the number one dressing room of the Prince of Wales Theatre with Benny discussing his comic impression of Frankie Laine, a stunningly accurate resurrection of the current hit ‘The Cry of the Wild Goose’, complete with flamboyant, outstretched-arms stage delivery. The real Hill couldn’t have been so free on stage, but Hill as Laine found it easy. This move away from the cocky, confident stand-up comedy delivery of Max Miller (which Hill struggled with) allowed him to develop as a performer. When talking as himself, he would embrace Frankie Howerd’s style of feigning nerves, delivering his gags and masking the silence or muted laughter with asides to himself:

She was a really robust girl. All ro and no ... wonder [to himself], otherwise she was quite nice really. This girl was so thin she could stand in a shower without getting wet. [to himself] Which is quite extraordinary, I can’t believe it myself even though I said it.’

With wringing hands and tremendous self-doubt, this is how Hill survived the variety circuit. Richard Stone gingerly persuaded him to take the Black brothers’ offer of three weeks filling in for an ailing Dave King at the London Hippodrome in November 1955, but Hill, cannily, only accepted when he secured a percentage of the takings. He performed in a summer season for Delfont at the Wellington Theatre, Great Yarmouth, in 1957 with Frederick Ferrari, The Konyots and Roger Carne. He turned out, with the glamorous Sabrina on his arm, for the final burst of fun – Terry Scott and Hugh Lloyd – at the doomed Chelsea Palace, his box office record intact, for a special farewell gig organized by Richard Stone, and in 1958 he starred at the Floral Theatre, Scarborough, with Renee Strange, Jack Beckitt and Peter Vernon. He later appeared at the Brighton Hippodrome, by now adopting Arthur Askey’s ploy of mocking his own jokes before the audience could – thus defusing groan reactions and endearing himself to the crowds.

Television exposure helped enormously. He performed at charity benefit concerts under the direction of BBC director Ernest Maxim, helping raise funds for children with cerebral palsy at a London Palladium midnight matinee, and for poor children from the East End in need of money for synagogue reconstruction at the Coliseum. Hill happily did several charity performances at the Prince of Wales, usually giving his ‘This Is Your Life’ spot as a load of different guests battling the Eamonn Andrews host figure played by either Peter Vernon or Nicholas Parsons. He compered Marlene Dietrich’s sell-out run at London’s Café Anglais, and compered again for a special show in honour of his old English master, Horace King. There were hugely successful Sunday night concerts at Felixstowe and sell-out appearances at the Finsbury Park Empire, but treading the boards night after night was never his style, and he liked it less and less each time he did it. However, once again he put aside a huge amount of time to tackle a further West End appearance in the revue Fine Fettle – the promise of major theatrical stardom and the chance to reinvent a key influence was too good to miss.

Inspired madness for the beatnik generation - Fine Fettle.

Fine Fettle

Hill returned to the West End stage in 1959 with Fine Fettle, ’a mid-summer frolic in cloth-cap and tails’, exploiting his position as one of the country’s top television comedians and simply bringing his collection of comic characters to a live audience. Based on Robert Dhery’s La Plume de ma Tante, the script was written by Benny Hill and Dave Freeman. Emile Littler suggested the title should be Boo to a Goose, much to the star’s indignance. Disarmingly he told Freeman, ‘I don’t fancy a title with the word “Boo” in it, it might give the audience ideas,’ muttering as a follow-up, ‘I don’t much care for the word “goose” either!’ Freeman’s original suggestion, Layabout Laughing, was far superior, but Fine Fettle it became. In an astounding piece of work, Hill played some twenty characters through the performance, and secured a popular seven-month run at the Palace Theatre.

Hill mugged with glorious abandon, playing a centaur, giggling through a ‘This Is Your Life’ skit with Bunny Hare, turning on the wide-eyed amazement as the eager stable-boy to Lady Godiva, delivering bumpkin mannerisms on his way to a country market, and presenting the full stage version of ‘Milk Marketing Board’, adopting cropped hair to enable quicker wig changes. Much of this material would be revamped for years to come as part of The Benny Hill Show.

The Daily Mirror theatrical reporter was less than impressed, pinpointing – albeit unknowingly – exactly why the audience loved it so much when he snootily commented: ‘It’s very much a seaside show masquerading as a West End one.’ The News Chronicle described the show as ‘fresh and zealous’, while the News of the World thought it included ‘choice, catchy tunes and laughs aplenty’. Hill’s final bow to the peer pressure of Stone and Delfont, this was his second and last big, starring stage production. Television was the future.

Fine Fettle: Bernard Delfont and Emile Littler. Palace Theatre, London W1 from 6 August 1959, 8 p.m. Friday/Saturday 6.15/8.45 p.m twice nightly. Closed February 1960. Prices: Stalls, 25s, 20s, 15s. Dress circle, 25s, 17s 6d, 12s 6d. Upper circle: 10s 6d, 8s 6d. Balcony 6s. Starring BENNY HILL, SHANI WALLACE, ROBERTSON HARE with IRVING DAVIES, PETER VERNON, MILDRED MAYNE, MARIO FABRIZZI, CLEMENCE BETTANY, VIVIENNE MARTIN, ROSE HILL. First half – ‘Something Out of...’: Shani Wallis, Irving Davies, Mildred Mayne, Clemence Bettany and the dancers. ‘Trunk Call’: Benny Hill. ‘Work Song’ (music and lyrics by Robert Gould): Shani Wallis, Irving Davies, Rose Hill, Vivienne Martin, Malcolm Macdonald & David Spurling. ‘The Open Book’: Benny Hill, Robertson Hare and Peter Vernon. ‘Boy in a Hurry’: Shani Wallis. ‘Sea View’: Robertson Hare and Rose Hill, with Vivienne Martin, Peter Vernon, Mildred Mayne and Clemence Bettany. ‘Re Percussion’ (by John Law and Lance Mulcany): Irving Davies and the dancers. ‘The Pride of Lower Tidmarsh’: Benny Hill, Vivienne Martin, Peter Vernon, Kenneth Toye, Peter Thornton, Brett Stevens, Bruce Gordon and Frank Davies. ‘Early Worm’: Robertson Hare, Rose Hill, Peter Vernon, Mildred Mayne, James Dark and Bruce Gordon. ‘Rickshaw Boy’ (by Robert Gould and Delores Clayman): Shani Wallis, Irving Davies, Vivienne Martin, Mildred Mayne, Frank Davies, Brett Stevens, Peter Thornton, Kenneth Toye and Malcolm Macdonald. ‘Turkish Bath’: Robertson Hare, Kenneth Toye, Tommy Shaw and James Dark. ‘Preamble’: Benny Hill. ‘Carry On Zeus’ (by Leslie Bricusse): Pan – Irving Davies, Zeus – Robertson Hare, Venus – Rose Hill, King Priam – Peter Vernon, Helen – Vivienne Martin, Hope – Shani Wallis, Hercules – Bruce Gordon, Hector – Kenneth Toye, Paris – Peter Thornton, and full company. Second half – ‘In Formation, Please’: Benny Hill, Shani Wallis, Irving Davies, Rose Hill, Mildred Mayne, Clemence Bettany, Terry Day and the dancers. ‘Midnight’ (Music and lyrics by Robert Gould): Robertson Hare, Shani Wallis & Irving Davies. ‘To See a Fine Lady’: Benny Hill, Peter Vernon, Rose Hill, Bruce Gordon, Mildred Mayne and Oliver. ‘Falling’: Shani Wallis and the male dancers. ‘Boy at the Fair’: Benny Hill. ‘Spice of Life’: Irving Davies, Tommy Shaw and David Spurling. ‘The Observer’: Robertson Hare. ‘Scarecrow’ (by Ron Moody): Vivienne Martin. ‘Moment Musicale’: introduced by Peter Vernon. ‘Small Town Episode’ (by Tony Tanner and Neville McGrah): Shani Wallis and the dancers. ‘The Traitor’: introduced by Vivienne Martin, Benny Hill and Robertson Hare. ‘Finale’: The full company. Revue directed by Kenneth Carter. The dancers: Janet Hall, Nita Howard, Heather Lynn, Maureen Sims, James Dark, Malcolm Macdonald, Tommy Shaw and David Spurling. Choreography: Irving Davies. Scenery and costumes: Louden Sainthill. Lighting: Michael Northern. The Palace Orchestra under the direction of Bert Rhodes. Music: Ronnie Hazlehurst and Ron Grainer.

Did You Know?

With bookings declining, Delfont replaced the usual television extravaganza Sunday Night at the London Palladium with edited highlights of Fine Fettle. Attendances soared.

The Palace Theatre, bearing the legend ‘Benny Hill in Fine Fettle’, also crops up in the French documentary film The World By Night, representing London entertainment.

Juggling television, radio, film and stage commitments in 1955 had physically exhausted Hill, but once he was released from his contract with Bernard Delfont, he could finally concentrate on his first love, television. However, he still had a summer season agreement to fulfil for agent Richard Stone

Lets Make a Night of It

Headlining the new Pavilion Theatre, Weymouth, in 1960, Hill fulfilled his promise to Richard Stone to star in this, his agent’s first stage presentation. A typical summer season revue, it naturally capitilized greatly on Hill’s television stardom.

Let’s Make a Night of It: Starring BENNY HILL, CYRIL STAPLETON AND HIS BAND. Featuring RAY MERRILL, JANET RICHMOND, THE FREDIANIS, PETER VERNON, CHRIS CARLSEN, JUNE POWELL, JEAN AND PETER BARBOUR, HELEN GRAY, THE TWELVE KING DANCERS. Choreography: Rita King. Producer: Bill Roberton.

Immediately afterwards, Hill departed for a long-standing engagement of variety appearances and television specials in Australia. His last stage appearance at this time was in 1960, at Sydney Town Hall – the Lord Mayor’s Command Performance, with local talent June Bronhill and John Larson. After that, Hill turned his back on live theatre for many, many years.

At the height of his international fame in the early 1980s, with American television screening his Thames Television material on a daily basis, he turned down huge amounts of money to appear in cabaret in Las Vegas and Atlantic City. He simply wasn’t interested in performing live, and certainly wasn’t prepared to go through ‘fingernails and asprins’ for an entirely new audience. No, the one show that would see his belated return to theatrical performance was a very special salute to a fellow comic genius, Eric Morecambe.

Bring Me Sunshine

A Tribute to Eric Morecambe, OBE

Although Hill performed to a studio audience within the comfortable confines of the television studios and would even perform at the drop of a hat for overseas promotional purposes, the only event which coaxed him back to performing in a theatre was the death of his friend and contemporary, Eric Morecambe.

The major tribute show, Bring Me Sunshine, performed at the London Palladium, was Hill’s first stage appearance in twenty-five years. During their parallel time at Thames Television during the 1970s, Eric and Benny would chat in the corridors and canteen of Thames’s Teddington Lock studio, each respecting the other’s totally different gifts for laughter-making. Indeed, Eric would cheekily rib his friend over the enormous international success of The Benny Hill Show – a level of world-wide fame unequalled by any comedian at the time or since. Hill’s determination to be in the Morecambe tribute show despite his terror at performing in front of a theatre audience speaks volumes. His eight-minute solo spot as a word-muddling, befuddled schoolmaster stopped the show. Helped by the fact that he could hold a huge book, both as prompt and prop to stop his hands shaking, it was a triumph and a moving return to live theatre.

The glorious tradition of Jimmy James variety was recreated by Jimmy Casey (aided and abetted by Roy Castle and Eli Woods), Kenny Ball blew up a storm, familiar Morecambe and Wise co-stars Hannah Gordon and Angela Rippon provided glamour, while that master pro, Dickie Henderson (himself, sadly, soon to be honoured with a tribute show), turned on the style. Other performers on the bill that night included Jim Davidson, Des O’Connor, Bruce Forsyth, Jimmy Tarbuck, Cannon and Ball (whom Eric had, incorrectly, predicted would take over the Morecambe and Wise crown as Britain’s best-loved double act) and impressionist Mike Yarwood – who set the pace for the evening by cheerfully answering Benny’s comment that this was his first stage work since 1960 with the throwaway, ‘You should get a better agent!’ Ernie Wise bravely hosted the evening in front of the guests of honour for the night, Eric’s widow, Joan Morecambe, and Prince Philip. Hill stood next to Tommy Cannon and Bobby Ball in the royal line-up, and sent a huge wreath to the funeral. Eric’s son, Gary Morecambe, later wrote The Illustrated Benny Hill, published in 1989. Thames filmed the show for later television transmission on Christmas Day 1984.

Bring Me Sunshine – A Tribute to Eric Morecambe, OBE: London Palladium. Starring MICHAEL ASPEL, KENNY BALL, ALISON BELL, LIONEL BLAIR, MAX BYGRAVES, TOMMY CANNON AND BOBBY BALL, JAMES CASEY, ROY CASTLE, PETULA CLARK, LESLIE CROWTHER, BARRY CRYER, SUZANNE DANIELLE, JIM DAVIDSON, DICKIE DAVIES, FRANK FINLAY, BRUCE FORSYTH, JILL GASCOINE, CHERRY GILLESPIE, HANNAH GORDON, THE HALF WITS, SUSAN HAMPSHIRE, DICKIE HENDERSON, BENNY HILL, DIANE KEEN, BONNIE LANGFORD, LULU, FRANCIS MATTHEWS, FULTON MACKAY, NANETTE NEWMAN, DES O’CONNOR, MICK OLIVER, ELAINE PAGE, MICHAEL PARKINSON, BERTICE REDDING, ANGELA RIPPON, WAYNE SLEEP, JIMMY TARBUCK, JOHN THAW, THE TILLER GIRLS (Choreographed by Fred Peters), ARTHUR TOLCHER, BRYN WILLIAMS, ELI WOODS, MIKE YARWOOD, THE IRVING DAVIES DANCERS, THE STEPHEN HILL SINGERS. Orchestra: Harry Rabinowitz. Choreography: Irving Davies. Script: Barry Cryer and Sid Colin. Staged and directed by Mark Stuart and Robin Nesbitt.

Salute to Thames

To mark the presentation of a National Academy of Television Art and Sciences award for American television work to Thames Television, Philip Jones was invited to celebrate with a live stage show at the Lincoln Center in New York in March 1987. Naturally, Benny Hill – both as the company’s biggest star and the key figure in America’s understanding of the Thames catalogue – was the first to be considered. Jones was less convinced. On many occasions he had approached Hill for special appearances on Thames Christmas television galas and the like, only to be greeted with the oft-repeated comment that he was only concerned with his own hour-long specials and nothing else. However, encouraged by the emotive Eric Morecambe tribute, Hill gingerly agreed to take part. After all, Thames had been good to him.

The planeful of Thames artistes flew into New York’s Kennedy Airport on 24 March 1987, and Benny Hill was aboard. A major Broadway exercise, the venture set Thames back about £1 million, and all the stars gathered for an after-show soiree in the luxury Plaza Hotel on 5th Avenue.

Performed in front of 2,000 people at the Lincoln Center, Broadway, Salute to Thames was a real gala affair. Mike Yarwood and Suzanne Danielle did their celebrated ‘Charles and Diana’ act, Janet Brown impersonated Margaret Thatcher, actor Edward Woodward interjected with running commentary, Richard Stilgoe tickled the ivories and the funnybone, while archetypal cockney musical turn Chas ’n’ Dave let rip with a knees-up celebration. The performance also featured Hill’s backup buddies, Henry McGee and Hill’s Angels. In front of an audience of pros, Hill performed his usual stand-up routine of reading from a mock diary – again both prompt and prop – while the audience went wild on his first appearance, adopting the beloved Fred Scuttle salute and stumbling through his stagehand duties sporting an ‘I Love New York’ T-shirt. By the time he reappeared as himself, in dinner jacket, he was totally relaxed.