With the Weymouth job pending, I returned to Miss Bell and the Theatre Girls Club for a couple of weeks so that I could rehearse.
‘Nice to see you back, Patricia,’ Miss Bell smiled as soon as I opened the door. ‘So, how long do you intend to stay this time?’
‘Oh, only a couple of weeks,’ I said, putting my case on the floor. I walked over to the reception desk and signed my name in the book. ‘It’s just until I start my next show.’
Miss Bell nodded and showed me to my dormitory.
The following day, we started rehearsals at a theatre in London. I was told we’d be helping out with the choreography for the show, mainly working with the chorus-line girls. The cast were lovely and I couldn’t wait to sort out the routines. That same morning, we were introduced to some of the other principals for the big production numbers. Top of the bill was a Welsh comedian called Johnny Stewart. Johnny had just come fresh from performing in Sunday Night at the London Palladium. The new line-up for Weymouth had also included stars such as Jack Douglas, Joe Baker and a Scottish female comedienne and impressionist called Janet Brown. Janet later went on to become famous for her impressions of Margaret Thatcher, England’s first female prime minister.
‘Hello, I’m Johnny. Johnny Stewart,’ a dark-haired man with a Welsh lilt in his voice said. He stepped forward, took my hand and shook it. ‘Do you remember me?’
I was a little confused until he explained that we’d met once before, while I was staying at digs in Hackney.
‘The face looks familiar,’ I remarked, ‘and not just from the television.’
‘Aunty Ada’s house,’ he said, trying to jog my memory.
Then I remembered. Before I’d left for Africa, I’d briefly stayed over at a boarding house in London. The landlady had been a lovely, warm Jewish lady. She was an eccentric and the theatricals had loved her, giving her the nickname Aunty Ada.
‘Ah, yes, that’s it! I remember now,’ I replied. ‘I think we met over dinner.’
‘Yes, we did,’ Johnny said, smiling straight back at me. It made me blush.
I momentarily scolded myself. It was obvious he was a terrible flirt and a real charmer.
Pat Wilson, you are an engaged woman! I thought.
As if reading my mind, Johnny’s hand came to a halt as he felt the engagement ring on my finger.
‘Ah, I see you’re already taken,’ he remarked. ‘Shucks, I guess I’m too late!’
I was a little taken aback, but I couldn’t be sure if he was being honest or just playing for a laugh. He was, after all, a comedian.
‘Now then, about this routine,’ I said, trying to change the subject.
Nick and I helped Johnny with a scene called the Viennese, where he sang the ‘Drinking Song’ in a beautiful tenor voice. I could tell that he loved this particular routine because swathes of girls would swirl around the stage in front of him as he sang.
Soon it was time to leave for Weymouth. Nick and I, and three chorus girls, had booked to stay in a boarding house close to the theatre, which was situated on the seafront. Once in Weymouth, we continued with rehearsals. Each morning, as soon as I arrived at the theatre, Johnny would be waiting for me to try to charm his way into my affections.
‘So,’ he said, standing by the entrance as I walked through the door one morning. ‘When are you going to let me take you out, Pat?’
I put a hand to my mouth and pretended to think about it.
‘Hmm, now, let me see. Never?’ I quipped, walking away.
‘Aww, don’t be like that.’
It made me smile. Secretly, I was sweet on Johnny Stewart, but I was still only twenty-two and he was nine years older. They say that with age comes confidence and Johnny certainly had that – by the bucket load. Many found it endearing, but I felt completely intimidated and out of my depth. In spite of my stage persona, I was still a shy Yorkshire lass trying to find herself in the big, wide world. Still, if I wasn’t going to go out with him, I’d make sure no one else would either.
‘If Johnny Stewart asks any of you out, you are to say no,’ I instructed the chorus girls. ‘This is a professional show and we can’t have people flirting on stage.’
The dancers nodded their heads. I was not only the show’s chorographer; I was also the principal dancer. It was typical female logic on my part. For some reason, I didn’t want to see any of the other dancers on his arm either. In spite of my own advice, I soon found myself falling for the charms of Johnny Stewart.
‘Go on, let me take you out, Pat,’ Johnny asked whenever we danced together.
‘Not a chance, buster,’ I would say, laughing and pretending to bop him on the nose as we practised together on stage.
‘Why not? What’s wrong with me?’ he asked on one occasion.
In truth, there was nothing wrong with him. Absolutely nothing – that was the problem.
‘You’re a married man,’ I declared.
I remembered overhearing someone say that Johnny had once been married.
‘Divorced,’ he corrected, pointing down at his ringless finger. ‘Besides, it was an awful long time ago.’
‘Yes, but I’m engaged,’ I added, pointing towards the ring on my own finger.
And so the pattern continued until, in the end, Johnny decided to change tactics.
One day, I was in the dressing room when I heard the chorus girls giggling.
‘Yes, he asked me out too but I said no,’ one girl whispered to another.
‘Who?’ I said, immediately turning around in my chair. ‘Who asked you out?’
‘Johnny Stewart,’ the dancer replied. ‘But don’t worry, we both said no.’
I felt my heart sink to my knees and that’s when I realised – I was in love with Johnny.
‘I can’t understand it,’ he said one night as he waited in the wings, ready to go on stage.
‘Understand what?’ I said.
‘No one will go out to dinner with me. I keep getting the cold shoulder from all the girls. What’s wrong with me, Pat?’
I stifled a smile.
‘Oh, nothing, I’m sure.’
‘So what about you? Won’t you let me take you out to dinner? Go on, it’ll be fun – just the two of us.’
I realised I’d been a complete fool and had denied my feelings for Johnny.
‘Go on then,’ I said, giving him a nudge with my elbow.
Johnny shook his head in surprise.
‘Was that a yes?’
I nodded.
‘Yes, it was a yes.’
Although I’d agreed to a dinner the following evening, Johnny’s confidence still frightened me to death. I’d felt so intimidated by him that, by the following evening, I knew I had to get out of it. Standing in the stage wings, I began to yawn. It was enough for him to notice.
‘Tired?’ Johnny asked as he came off stage.
‘Yes. I’m exhausted. Listen, do you mind if I cancel for tonight?’
‘No, that’s fine,’ said Johnny, although he looked disappointed.
‘It’s just that I think I’d like an early night.’
‘No, I quite understand,’ he replied.
But I immediately regretted my decision.
A few nights later, Johnny and I had performed on stage together. It was a simple routine, where Johnny played my stage lover, with Jack Douglas taking the part of my husband. At the end of the sketch, Johnny had to lean forward and kiss me. Up until that point, it had always been a ‘stage’ kiss. However, that evening, instead of pretending, Johnny grabbed hold of me and kissed me full on the mouth – in front of a packed theatre! The kiss had left me breathless.
‘That was a bit sly,’ I whispered from the corner of my mouth as we bowed to rapturous applause.
‘I know, but a fella’s got to take his chances when he can,’ he said, still facing towards the crowd.
As we exited the stage, Johnny asked me out to dinner again. This time I accepted. I’d decided that I didn’t want to fight my feelings for him any longer. Of course, the other girls laughed when they realised I’d been in love with Johnny all along. Everyone could see that we were completely right together. It had just been me who had needed a little extra persuasion.
I was still engaged to Phil but, deep down, I knew I’d never marry him. A week or so later, Phil had travelled down to Weymouth to see me. Unfortunately, as he stood there waiting at the stage door, I pulled up outside in Johnny’s car. Phil looked over at Johnny and Johnny looked over at Phil. I knew in my heart of hearts what I had to do, so I stepped out of the car, pulled the engagement ring from my wedding finger and went over to speak to him.
‘I’m so sorry, Phil, but I can’t marry you. Here,’ I said placing the ring in the palm of his hand. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘But, Patty…’ Phil began as I turned to walk away.
I stopped in my tracks and turned back towards him. ‘I’m sorry, Phil, but I don’t love you.’
‘But, Patty,’ he cried and it made me cringe.
‘And please don’t call me Patty. I’ve always hated it.’
I felt like a complete cow, but I knew I had to break his heart in order for him to move on. I’d already decided that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Johnny, and I knew that Phil, or anyone else for that matter, couldn’t do anything to change that.
A few weeks later, Johnny was reading the newspaper when he stumbled across a story written about an old friend of his – an Irish singer called Ruby Murray. Johnny told me that Ruby had got married to one of her fellow performers, who she’d been starring in a show with.
‘Maybe we should do the same,’ I remarked, raising a quizzical eyebrow.
Johnny looked down at the newspaper, closed it and folded it up in his hands. He looked up at me, a smile playing across his lips.
‘All right then, let’s get married!’
My head spun around to face his.
‘Was that a marriage proposal, Johnny Stewart?’ I shrieked.
Johnny shrugged his shoulders. ‘I suppose it was.’
We went down to the register office on Monday afternoon and arranged to be married just two days later, on the Wednesday. But there was a problem. The registrar had seemed concerned when Johnny explained he’d been married.
‘But I’m divorced now,’ he explained.
‘Can I see your decree nisi?’ the registrar asked him.
Johnny and I looked at him blankly.
‘Er, I don’t think I have one,’ Johnny replied. ‘Even if I did have, I wouldn’t have a clue where to find it.’
‘But you’re definitely divorced?’ the registrar asked.
‘Definitely.’
‘In that case, I’ll need to see your decree nisi before your wedding day.’
I was confused. I didn’t understand what a decree nisi was and why we needed one.
‘But what if we haven’t got it?’ I asked.
The registrar sat back in his chair and tapped his finger against a pile of papers on his desk.
‘If I don’t have Mr Stewart’s decree nisi on my desk before Wednesday, I’m afraid you can’t get married.’
I put a hand to my mouth and gasped.
‘What, you mean it’ll stop the wedding?’
The registrar nodded grimly.
‘I need it to prove that Mr Stewart is divorced and not about to commit bigamy.’
Johnny slumped back in his chair. He looked totally defeated. But I wasn’t.
‘All right, so where can we get a copy of it?’ I said.
‘Somerset House,’ the registrar said. He sifted through a pile of papers. ‘If you wait a moment, I should be able to find an address for you.’
We left his office with a provisional wedding date for the coming Wednesday. I crossed my fingers that the relevant paperwork would arrive in time and on Wednesday morning, Johnny and I dashed over to the theatre to see if there was a letter for us.
‘It’s very important,’ I insisted, as the front-of-house manager flicked through the morning’s post.
‘This one says it’s for a Johnny Stewart,’ he finally said.
‘That’s me,’ Johnny replied, taking the envelope from the manager’s hand.
‘I feel sick,’ I remarked, holding a hand against my throat. ‘I hope this is it.’
I watched as Johnny ripped open the brown paper envelope and pulled out the letter. My eyes scoured his face, waiting for a reaction as he read and re-read it.
‘What is it, Johnny? Have they sent it through?’ I asked. My heart beat furiously as I waited for him to speak.
‘This is it!’ he said, holding the letter aloft. ‘It’s my decree nisi, Pat!’
With that, he scooped me up in his arms and twirled me around as I threw my head back and laughed.
‘Pat Wilson, will you marry me today?’ Johnny asked, planting my feet back down on the ground.
Tears of relief flooded my eyes and then it dawned on me.
‘I’ll need to go into town first. We’re getting married at two o’clock and I haven’t got a thing to wear!’ I grinned as tears of happiness streamed down my face.
Johnny took the decree nisi to the registry office to confirm the wedding, while I washed my hair in the theatre’s dressing room. I then nipped into town, where I bought myself a beautiful blue corduroy dress. It was hardly a wedding dress but, with its nipped-in waist, as soon as I pulled it on, I felt a million dollars. I didn’t care that it wasn’t a white dress or that we weren’t getting married in a church – all that mattered was I was about to marry the love of my life.
At 2pm Johnny and I walked into the register office and a little while later we emerged as Mr and Mrs Stewart. It was 3 September 1956. We’d needed two independent witnesses, so Johnny had popped outside and dragged in a poor unsuspecting couple off the street. Three hours later, we were back at the theatre in time for the afternoon matinee. We hadn’t told a soul what we’d just done, but someone must have spotted my wedding ring because, after the show ended, Jack Douglas, my ‘on-stage’ husband, had an announcement to make.
Jack stepped forward from the line as the three of us took our bow. Johnny and I glanced at one another because we knew it wasn’t in the script and, for a moment, we thought he’d gone quite mad.
‘What’s he doing?’ I whispered to Johnny.
‘Search me.’
Jack raised his hands and waved them down in a bid to quieten the audience and the applause.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began as a hush descended across the theatre. ‘You’ve been a fantastic audience. Thank you so much for coming along to tonight’s performance. We really hope that you’ve enjoyed it. Now, if it’s all right with you, I have an announcement to make. We’ve just discovered that Johnny has just married the lovely Pat this afternoon. They thought we didn’t know but we all noticed the ring on her finger. Now I’m sure you would all like to join me in wishing the happy couple all our love and success for the future.’
The Gardens Pavilion in Weymouth erupted as members of the audience began to stand, cheer and whistle in celebration. Soon, everyone was on their feet, clapping wildly. Johnny and I stepped forward into the spotlight to take another bow. It’s rare that I’m ever lost for words but, at that moment, I was speechless. Remarkably, and for the first time ever, so was Johnny.