The following day, I sat down and wrote a letter to my parents. ‘Dear Mam and Dad,’ I began, the pen poised in my hand as Johnny sat by my side.
I turned to him.
‘How on earth am I going break it to them that their only daughter has gone off and got married without a word?’
‘Here, give me the pen,’ he said and sighed. ‘What do you want me to write?’
‘I just think I need to tell them that I’m absolutely certain we’ve done the right thing and that I hope they’ll feel as happy as I do right now.’
Johnny passed the pen back to me.
‘I think this is something you need to do, Pat.’
He was right, of course. In the end, I explained that it would have been pointless for Johnny and I to wait because we were always so busy performing. Also, we’d never be able to plan a big, white wedding because we never knew where we would be.
‘Do you think it’s all right?’ I asked, handing him the letter.
Johnny read it and nodded.
‘I think it’s perfect. It says all it needs to say.’
If I had thought my parents would be upset, I was wrong. Instead, they jumped on a train and travelled all the way down to Weymouth to meet their new son-in-law. Thankfully, they got on with him like a house on fire and welcomed Johnny with open arms.
‘Come on, lad.’ Dad said, giving him a friendly slap on the back. ‘Let me buy yer a pint t’welcome you t’family properly.’
Mam and Dad stayed for a week or so before catching the train back home.
‘Yer better look after her!’ Mam said, wagging her finger at Johnny before they left.
Johnny circled an arm around my waist and smiled back at her.
‘I will. I promise!’
Sadly, I’d decided that, now I was a married woman, my dancing career with Nick had to come to an end. I knew I couldn’t continue to chase jobs up and down the country because I wanted to be with Johnny.
‘I’m sorry Nick,’ I said. ‘The last thing I expected when I came to Weymouth was to end up a married woman.’
Nick was disappointed but very understanding.
‘It’s all right, Pat. You and Johnny are made for one another – anyone can see that. I wish you all the best for the future.’
‘But what will you do?’ I asked, feeling guilty that our duo would be over once the show had come to an end.
‘I’ll just audition for another girl.’
So that’s what he did. When the season had finally ended, I hugged Nick and wished him well. It felt sad to be saying goodbye, but I knew in my heart of hearts this part of my dancing career was over for good.
A few weeks later, I received a letter with an offer for me to star in pantomime. A lady called Gladys Laidler, who was a very famous principal boy at the time, had sent it. Gladys was married to Francis Laidler, who was well respected for his pantomime productions. I’d actually worked for him many years before when I’d been a chorus girl in my first show at Leeds.
‘Where’s the pantomime?’ Johnny asked when I told him about the job offer.
‘It’s at the Bradford Alhambra.’
‘It’s a good theatre, Pat,’ he replied, although I could tell he didn’t want us to be parted any more than I did. ‘What’s the part?’ he asked, breaking my thoughts.
‘She wants to offer me the part of the cat,’ I said glancing down at the letter. ‘It’s for Puss in Boots.’
Johnny nodded his head grimly.
‘That’s a good part too,’ he agreed.
‘I know,’ I said, resting the letter down on the table in my dressing room. ‘It’s a part I’ve always wanted to play,’ I sighed.
I jokingly slapped my thigh in a puss-in-boots style. It made Johnny laugh.
‘But I can’t take it,’ I decided.
‘Why ever not?’
I held him close and planted a kiss on his lips.
‘Because I’ve got a new role – here with you. I’m your wife, Johnny, and I can’t think of a part I’d rather play.’
After we’d married, Johnny and I had discussed working and living apart. We both knew the only way our marriage would survive the tough world of show business would be if we worked together as a team. I could have been offered the best spot at the London Palladium, but I wouldn’t have been tempted because wild horses couldn’t drag me from Johnny’s side. Instead, I decided to become Johnny’s personal assistant. I made phone calls, chased agents and dealt with all his business enquiries. He even asked me to help write comedy scripts for him.
‘But I don’t have a clue how to write a script,’ I gasped, thinking he’d lost the plot.
‘It doesn’t matter, Pat. You’ve been in pantomimes all your life and they are the most heavily scripted pieces of theatre out there.’
A writer for a proposed show would send over a basic script to us, and we would write in all of Johnny’s entrances. He’d come up with the gags, while I helped with the choreography and his movements on stage.
‘No, you need to be more over to the left when you say that line,’ I’d say, directing him from the stalls.
Johnny also tried out all his new gags on me first.
‘You can help me fine-tune them,’ he explained.
After the season at Weymouth, Johnny was called to perform in a show out in Cyprus for the troops. He’d signed the contract long before we’d married, so he had to honour it. Johnny would be working for Combined Services Entertainment (CSE for short). The CSE was the modern equivalent of ENSA (Entertainments National Service Association) and rehearsals would take place in the War Office. The office was based in a large baroque-type building, which was on Horse Guards Avenue at its junction with Whitehall, in central London.
The building was oddly shaped, with four distinctive domes that contained over 1,000 rooms across seven floors. It was in one of these rooms that the cast practised, and I helped with the choreography. After a few weeks, the cast flew out to Cyprus. I felt at a loose end, so I decided to return home to see my parents in Featherstone. Johnny was away for six weeks and I missed him dreadfully. It was the first time we’d been apart and I felt as though my right arm had been ripped off.
‘Don’t worry, love. He’ll soon be back,’ Mam said, trying her best to lift my spirits.
But nothing could. I was lovesick and counting down the days until Johnny came home.
Finally, he landed at a military airport and we met up in London.
‘I’ve got a surprise. Shut your eyes, Pat,’ Johnny said.
I did as I was told.
‘Right, you can open them,’ he said, dangling a key in front of my face.
‘But what’s it for?’ I asked, taking the large silver key from his hand.
‘Our first home – just me and you. It’s not much – just a bedsit in Kilburn – but it’ll suit us just fine.
The bedsit had belonged to one of the old theatricals, who had rented it out to supplement his retirement fund. It was basic by today’s standards and situated at the top of an old Victorian building. We rented our own television but, other than that, the room was almost empty, with only a chest of drawers, a wardrobe, a cooker and a bed. It also had a vacuum cleaner but that blew out more dirt than it ever picked up. Still, at last we had somewhere we could call home.
The War Office and CSE offered Johnny another gig, but this time I was given the job of show choreographer. Although there was no dancing involved, management wanted movement both on and off stage to be as fluid as possible. The tour would take us to the Far East – a land I’d only ever dreamed of. At last, I was working for ENSA. I thought back to all those times as a child when I’d sit and tune into the shows on the radio. I’d hoped one day I’d be able to work for ENSA and now I finally could. It felt like a dream come true.
Johnny and I flew out to Singapore from a military airport just outside London a week before Christmas, in 1956. There were no long-haul flights, so we stopped off in Spain before continuing our journey to the Far East. The tour was booked to run for eight weeks, which meant we got to spend New Year’s Eve in Malaya. The shows weren’t quite as frequent as we would have liked because the troops were out on manoeuvres, so Johnny suggested we all go to watch an Australian singer, who was performing in a cabaret at one of the city’s five-star hotels.
‘She’s supposed to be very good,’ he said.
The cast agreed, gathered their things and we all headed over there.
The singer had a beautiful voice, just as Johnny had said. Back then, I didn’t drink alcohol at all. However, I’d decided I was looking a little on the thin side and someone had told me Guinness was a quick way to put a bit of weight on. With this in mind, I ordered half a pint. I gulped it down quickly but it had soon gone to my head. The singer took her place behind the microphone and sang something I knew. It had a good beat, so I jumped up on the table and began to dance along. I don’t remember much else about it, but Johnny later told me I’d gone down a storm.
‘Please tell me I didn’t do it,’ I whined the following morning.
I rubbed my head. I had the mother of all hangovers.
‘All right, you didn’t do it.’ Johnny laughed.
It took all the effort I had, but I lifted my head from the pillow and looked up at him through squinted eyes.
‘Didn’t I?’
Johnny smirked.
‘Yes, of course you did. But everyone loved you, Pat!’
I threw a pillow at him. Sadly, I missed.
I’d been as drunk as a skunk and everyone had seen. I felt absolutely mortified and vowed never to touch the black stuff ever again.
We were performing in Singapore when someone asked if Johnny and I would like to go and visit families living in the poorer areas. It was explained that a visit by a TV star like Johnny would not only highlight their plight but would also bring more funds and aid to the country. We were walking around meeting the families when a friendly journalist approached me. After Derrick Webster had kindly helped rescue me and the rest of the troupe in Africa, I considered all journalists to be my friends. However, this one was different. Within minutes, he’d struck up a conversation and we started to chat away. Later that day, Johnny and I were introduced to a family who were struggling because they had triplets. The three baby girls were absolutely gorgeous, but their parents were desperately poor.
‘It’s so sad,’ I said to Johnny, cradling one of the poor little mites in my arms.
The reporter had overheard and came over towards me.
‘They’re lovely, aren’t they, Pat?’ he remarked.
I nodded. Each girl was identical, from their tiny toes to their cute button noses.
‘Would you adopt them, if you could?’ the reporter asked as I cradled one of the babies in my arms.
I thought of the hardship and poverty they faced. Suddenly, I felt gripped by a maternal instinct to protect.
‘Yes,’ I said, holding the baby tight. ‘Of course I would.’
‘Any chance we could get a picture of you and Johnny holding the babies?’ The reporter asked as a photographer zoomed forward from the shadows to take it.
Within days, the journalist had written the story up for the Daily Sketch. Once again, I appeared on the front page, announcing that I’d like to adopt the poor triplets. Of course, it had been an off-the-cuff remark I’d made in the heat of the moment. There was no way I wanted to take three babies away from their mother, but the reporter didn’t let the facts get in the way of a good story.
COMEDIAN AND HIS WIFE VOW TO ADOPT POOR TRIPLETS AND BRING THEM HOME! the headline screamed, but I was still thousands of miles from home, so I didn’t have a clue about my part in the breaking story.
A few weeks later, just before we flew home, we were browsing around the shops when we came to a halt outside one that sold portable camera equipment.
‘Let’s go inside and have a look,’ I suggested, glancing over at the cameras in the window.
‘What for?’ Johnny asked.
‘That,’ I said, pointing over at the portable camera. ‘Imagine if we were able to film our own shows. Wouldn’t that be marvellous?’
Back in England, home filming had only just begun to take off, but it had already been widely available for a number of years in the Far East. In England, portable cameras cost a small fortune but were only a fraction of the price in Singapore. After a bit of bartering with the shopkeeper, we left the store with a portable camera, lens and a screen.
‘But how will we get all this stuff home?’ Johnny asked, looking at all the bags in our hands.
I tapped the side of my nose.
‘Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.’
Back at the hotel, I packed the electronic equipment inside the padding of my stage costumes.
‘But what if we get caught going through customs?’ Johnny said, beginning to panic.
‘Don’t be daft. We won’t.’
We landed back in England and sailed through customs with nothing to declare. But I could’ve killed Johnny. He had such a guilty face that he’d almost given the game away. Once we’d cleared customs, we boarded the coach along with the rest of the troupe. We were just about to set off when we heard a voice over the airport’s loudspeaker.
‘Could a Mr and Mrs Stewart please return to customs,’ the voice announced.
Johnny’s head spun to face me.
‘Bloody hell, Pat, we’ve been rumbled! I knew we shouldn’t have brought all that stuff home.’
The rest of the cast looked worried too. They were all in on the secret and knew all about my stowed-away portable camera.
‘Oh, my God!’ I said, my heart pounding ten to the dozen. ‘We’ve been discovered!’
Johnny and I warily approached the customs man. To be truthful, we were half-expecting to be handcuffed at any moment. Instead, he handed us a note.
‘What does it say?’ I said, trying to read over Johnny’s shoulder.
He looked up at me and, without warning, began to laugh out loud.
‘It says, “Please could you not leave the airport because there are press men wanting to speak to you.”’
I looked up at the customs man.
‘But what is it about? What do they want with us?’ I asked.
‘The triplets,’ he replied.
‘The triplets out in Singapore. The ones you said you wanted to adopt. It’s been in all the papers. Why, haven’t you seen it?’
Suddenly, the penny dropped. I looked up at Johnny and we both dissolved into a fit of laughter.
The customs man looked at us as though we were completely mad.
‘Well, thank god for that!’ Johnny said, clutching at his heart.
We gave a full and frank interview to the waiting press and told them that we had absolutely no desire to adopt someone else’s triplets.
‘We haven’t even had children of our own yet,’ I said, winking at Johnny.
After we’d returned home, Johnny was offered more work through his agent Keith Devon. Although he was part of a larger agency, Keith was the sole agent to Johnny, a comedian called Ted Rogers, who later went on to present a popular show on TV called 3-2-1, and the Beverley Sisters. Keith had offered Johnny some work in a variety show, performing at Finsbury Park, and other London theatres alongside the Beverley Sisters.
The eldest sister was Joy and she was, as her name had suggested, a joy to be around. We hit it off immediately and soon became very good friends. Joy had married a footballer called Billy Wright, who was the team captain for England. Billy also played for Wolverhampton Wanderers, so we ended up doing a show with the Sisters at the town’s theatre. Billy and Joy were always together and theirs was a match made in heaven. The Bevs also included the twins Barbette (or Babs for short) and Teddie. All three were lovely to work with.
The theatrical circuit was a community within a community. Most of the big names had come from working-class backgrounds just like mine. Although they were rich and famous on stage, off it they were the most down-to-earth, honest folk you could ever hope to meet. And that’s precisely what the Bevs were. In all the years that Johnny worked alongside them, they never once let fame or fortune go to their heads. Instead, they remained friendly and approachable, particularly to the younger performers trying to get a foot on the showbiz ladder. I always thought that this marked out who the true stars really were.