We pulled the caravan into Wales and into a caravan park called Fontygary. It was a lovely holiday park, populated not only by weekly holidaymakers, but also people who had bought a caravan as a second home.
Once on site, Johnny began working on the Land of Song TV programme. He was earning around £400 a month so, for once, we had a regular and steady income.
We soon became very friendly with a couple called Eileen and Charlie. Charlie had been a successful businessman, so the couple were very wealthy. Charlie had made his fortune buying and selling things, but he was also a moneylender. The caravan park was only open in the summer because it closed throughout the winter months. By this time, Peter was almost five years old and due to start school after Christmas. Deep down, I knew we needed to settle instead of moving from one place to another because it wouldn’t be good for the children to be constantly uprooted. Besides, now that Johnny was on TV, there was very little to stop us.
‘I’m sick of all this travelling,’ I complained one morning over breakfast. ‘It’s too cramped in here with us and two children. We need to buy a house, put down some roots and stay in one place, Johnny,’ I said. ‘We need to buy our own house.’
But he wasn’t convinced.
‘Houses cost a fortune, Pat, and what if the money stops coming in. What then?’
I huffed and got up to clear away the breakfast plates. But I wasn’t prepared to give up.
Later that evening, we were sat having dinner with Charlie and Eileen when the same conversation started up again.
‘But we know nothing about buying a house, Pat,’ Johnny argued. ‘Besides, how would we manage to pay a mortgage month after month?’
Charlie leaned forward, causing the ice cubes to chink together inside his glass of scotch.
‘The thing is,’ he said tapping his finger against his glass, ‘when you’ve got a mortgage to pay, you’ll always find the money.’
Charlie leaned back and looked over at his wife. ‘Isn’t that so, Eileen?’
Eileen nodded.
‘It is. You see, everyone has hard times, Johnny. But somehow, you always manage to find the money for the mortgage because you need a roof over your heads. And not just your heads – what about the boys?’
I looked over at Johnny, who was listening intently.
‘All right then. We’ll go and have a look tomorrow morning,’ he decided. ‘But we’ll just have a look. We’re not rushing into anything.’
I took his head in my arms and kissed him full on the lips.
‘I love you, Johnny Stewart. You are the best husband a wife could ever wish to have!’
Charlie and Eileen laughed, and we made plans to head over to the estate agents the following day.
In spite of his reservations, we put down a deposit on a detached house in St Mellons – a suburb on the outskirts of Cardiff. We sold our caravan for the princely sum of £100 and moved into our detached three-bedroom home. The property sat in the middle of so much land that it felt as though the house had its own grand gardens. After living in a caravan for so many years, it finally felt good to have so much space. The only problem was that, because the house had cost us £3,500 – a small fortune in those days – we didn’t have any spare cash to buy furniture with. Undeterred, I spent what we did have on a set of net curtains to stop the neighbours from peering in.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said to Johnny as we walked around the empty rooms. ‘We’ll soon earn enough money to buy furniture.’
But our world came crashing down only a few months later when Equity – the actors and performers union – called all its members out on strike, including those working in TV.
‘That’s it,’ Johnny said, flopping himself down on the bare floor. ‘If there’s no work, there’ll be no money to pay the bills, especially not on a big place like this!’
Johnny threw his hands up in despair.
‘It’ll be all right,’ I said, trying to calm him. ‘Remember what Charlie said.’
‘I know, but if I can’t work, how can I earn money to pay for it?’
For a moment I was completely stumped and then I remembered.
‘The northern clubs!’ I gasped. ‘You need to work the northern club circuit. They’d pay a fortune for a good comedian like you.’
Johnny wasn’t convinced, so I picked up the telephone and called all the clubs I could think of in the Yorkshire area, asking for the names and phone numbers of the ones I didn’t. Soon I not only had a list, but I’d managed to secure him lots of bookings.
‘But where will I stay?’
‘You can live with Mam and Dad.’
‘But what about you and the boys?’
My heart sank because I knew it would mean we’d have to live apart. But tough times call for tough measures.
‘We’ll be fine here,’ I said, trying to reassure him. ‘But when the money starts to come in, could you please send some home so that I can buy a bed?’
So that’s what he did.
Johnny was paid £60 a night by every club he played at. He started off in Sheffield and slowly worked his way around each working-man’s club in Yorkshire. After an evening’s work, he’d stuff his wages into an envelope and post the cash back home.
‘Look, boys!’ I said, opening up the first envelope. ‘We’ve got enough to buy a bed!’
Later that day, I popped into Cardiff and bought a double bed. I shared it with the boys until I had enough to buy them a bed each. Once the boy’s rooms had been fully furnished, I concentrated on the rest of the house, beginning with the carpets.
‘I’ll take you to the cash-and-carry warehouse if you like. They’ll be much cheaper there,’ Charlie suggested.
‘Oh, would you?’
I was grateful to Charlie because he always seemed to know where he could lay his hands on a bargain. It was only when we walked around the cash-and-carry that I realised how cheap the goods were.
‘Blimey! You can really pick up a deal in one of these places, can’t you?’ I remarked.
‘You certainly can, Pat. How do you think I made my money? Buying and selling things – it’s a sure way to making a fortune, as long as you buy the right thing.’
Soon Christmas was upon us. But with money still tight, Johnny decided we’d have to tighten our belts even more.
‘We won’t be able to afford to buy Christmas presents for the boys this year,’ he said as he sat at the kitchen table counting up what little money we had.
‘Why? How much money have we got left?’
Johnny sighed and looked down at the handful of notes.
‘Once the mortgage is paid, all we’ll have left is thirty pounds,’ he said, holding the bank notes aloft. ‘And that,’ he said, shaking them, ‘will have to see us all through Christmas.’
Johnny had a pantomime booking in Swansea the following month, so I knew we just had to keep going until then.
‘Here,’ I said, taking the money from his hand. ‘I’ve got an idea that will give us a Christmas to remember.’
‘But you can’t do much with thirty quid.’
‘Can’t I?’ I replied, tucking the money inside my purse. ‘Just you wait and see.’
I telephoned Charlie to ask if he’d take me back to the cash-and-carry. The following day, we headed over there and I bought a hundred sheets and a hundred towels. But when I returned home clutching boxes of linen, Johnny thought I’d lost my marbles.
‘You’ve spent it on what?’ he gasped, opening one of the boxes to peer inside.
‘Towels and sheets,’ I replied, stacking one box on top of another.
‘But what do we need with all these sheets and towels?’ Johnny gestured at the empty room. ‘We haven’t even got furniture!’
‘Johnny,’ I said, dusting off my hands. ‘You said we wouldn’t be able to give the boys a Christmas. But there’s no way on God’s earth my boys will miss out on Christmas presents, and this linen,’ I said, tapping the top of a box, ‘will be our ticket out of poverty.’
Johnny looked at me, bewildered.
‘You don’t get it, do you? I’m going to sell it, make a profit and use the money to buy the kids some toys.’
He scratched his head.
‘But where will you sell it?’
‘Door to door.’
Johnny threw his head back and snorted with laughter.
‘Wait. Let me get this straight.’ He grinned. ‘You plan to sell towels and sheets door to door, like a gypsy?’
I nodded.
‘If I have to, yes. I’ll do anything to make sure our boys don’t do without this Christmas.’
Although he hadn’t been entirely convinced by my plan, the following morning Johnny helped me load up the car with the boxes of towels and sheets.
‘Of course, you’ll have to drive me,’ I said, finally slamming the boot of the car shut.
‘But I’m on TV! What if someone recognises me?’ he exclaimed.
‘Tough! There’s no way my boys are going without and that’s that,’ I said, climbing into the passenger seat.
Johnny wasn’t very happy but he drove the towels, the sheets, our two boys and me from village to village and door to door.
‘Who’s that in that car?’ a lady asked as I held out a towel to demonstrate the quality.
‘They wash very well. All the stains…’ I said, giving her my usual sales patter.
But she wasn’t listening. Instead, she was craning her neck, trying to look behind me and into the car.
‘That looks just like that man off the telly, Johnny whatshisname…’ she said, desperately trying to remember his surname.
‘Stewart?’ I offered.
‘Yes, that’s him! The one who does that Land of Song show on the telly.’
I turned to see Johnny sliding down in the driver’s seat. He was trying his best not to be spotted.
‘No, it’s not him,’ I said, holding the towel aloft. ‘It’s just my husband, although he gets it all the time. Personally, I don’t think he looks a bit like him. Anyway, about this towel…’
By the end of the week, I’d not only managed to shift the entire stock, I’d covered the £30 I’d spent on it and, to my delight, managed to turn a £60 profit.
‘Well, I have to hand it to you, Pat, you could sell coals to Newcastle,’ Johnny remarked as we threw the last of the empty boxes into the dustbin.
For once, we were cash rich. We packed the boys into the car and headed to Featherstone, so that we could spend Christmas with Mam and Dad. In spite of Johnny’s initial reservations, we did indeed have a Christmas to remember. As for the boys, we bought them a swing and seesaw.
‘This is great!’ Peter said, dragging Stephen outside for a go on the swing. ‘Mum, Mum,’ he called. ‘Can you push me higher?’
I’d had the swing and seesaw delivered to Mam’s garden in time for Christmas Day. But as I was leaving the shop, I spotted a sideboard out of the corner of my eye. It was a bargain at just £12.
‘I’ll take that too,’ I said, opening up my purse.
A week later, I paid for the swing, seesaw and sideboard to be delivered to our home in Wales on the back of a wagon.
Johnny had already signed a contract for a panto in Swansea, but by now I realised how easy it had been to approach the northern clubs and secure work. As long as you knew who to approach, you were halfway there. Before we left Yorkshire, I’d watched a programme on TV that had featured working-men’s clubs in Wales. Although they were exactly the same as the ones Johnny had performed at in Yorkshire, they didn’t feature professional acts. I had a brainwave.
‘Johnny,’ I said, looking up at him as the brilliant plan formed inside my head. ‘When we go back to Wales, I’m going to set myself up as a theatrical agent.’
Johnny folded his newspaper and glanced over at me.
‘Are you serious?’
‘Deadly.’
And I was. Wales didn’t have a clue what was about to hit it.