Soprano: The Musical Career of Lily Lonsdale (2)

The Queens Palace, Rhyl

In the first few years on the road Lily and Ernie appeared in numerous venues up and down the country, including Belfast, Hull, Salford, Liverpool, Rhyl, Pentre, Tonypandy, Barry, Treorchy, Birmingham, Leeds, Derby, Coventry, Gloucester, Birkenhead, Argyll, Edinburgh and occasionally back on Lily's home turf in the Potteries. They were as yet only middle-ranking performers building up their reputations on the theatre and music hall circuit, all of which further honed their considerable skills. Despite now being married and performing at the same venues, they still appeared under their original stage names as separate acts, Ernie as an increasingly popular 'patter comedian' regaling the audience with amusing if outlandish stories and Lily in her role as a classical or ballad vocalist, though occasionally she too turned her hand to comedy, often performing in sketches or skits opposite her husband, such as when they were appearing at the Queen's Palace in Rhyl, North Wales in 1902:

'A very clever item is the amusing sketch entitled “The New Man” a burlesque in which much jesting and vivacity are introduced and which does the artistes credit. Ernie Myers well sustains the funny part, humour of course being a speciality of his which has made him a great favourite while in Rhyl. The mad woman's part is played by Miss Lily Lonsdale, the accomplished ballad vocalist who for the past week or two has charmed the audiences from day to day.'

- Rhyl Journal, 20 September 1902, p.2

They appeared in very mixed companies, sharing the stages with conjurors, ventriloquists, impressionists, acrobats, marksmen, puppeteers, clowns, jugglers, dancers and performing animals as well as other comedians and singers. On at least one occasion they were on the same bill as another married couple who performed as the double act 'Drum and Major'. The husband 'Tom Major', real name Tom Ball, would later adopt his pseudonym permanently and following the death of his wife Kitty, by a second marriage he became the father of future Conservative Prime Minister John Major. Probably the most famous bill that Lily and Ernie appeared on, though, was that for the Argyll Theatre of Varieties, Birkenhead, on 29 May 1905, when they were amongst the acts who for three nights appeared in the same show as the famous American escapologist Harry Houdini, then on a tour of Britain.

Their schedules could be gruelling, travelling from one venue to another and when there giving performances six evening a week, plus a weekday matinee. Lily sometimes had to sing up to six or seven songs per performance, so needed to make sure that her voice was in tip-top condition. Away from the stage, both she and Ernie needed to constantly keep their repertoires topical and refreshing; for Ernie this meant a constant search for new material for his comedy act, while Lily had to learn and practice the latest songs to keep her audiences entertained. The winter season did at least give the couple the chance to settle down for a few months into more regular work, when like many artists today they took on roles in traditional Christmas pantomimes. Lily and Ernie often appeared together in Aladdin, where Ernie gained a reputation for playing the villainous magician Abanazar and Lily made a memorable Princess. 

Though their workload was heavy, both of them were still young and the constant round of work paid for a very respectable lifestyle and by 1911 the couple had settled down in a pleasant house in Derby. By now they also had another child, a daughter, Lillian May, born in 1910, who when her parents were on tour along with her elder brother Jack were again left in the care of Lily's mother Martha, who had quit the Potteries and now lived with the couple in their new home. The children were doubtless left in the care of their grandmother for several months in August 1911, when Lily and Ernie and a few other acts set off on a journey to South Africa, where theatrical agent Edgar Hyman of the Empire Theatres Trust had booked them to perform at the Empire Theatre in Johannesburg. By December, though, they were back in Britain, once again taking up their respective roles in yet another performance of Aladdin.

Things carried on in the same vein for the next two years or more, but this happy period came to a shattering end when in 1914 the couple again set out for South Africa, this time at the invitation of the Africa Theatres Trust who had bought out Edgar Hyman's management company. Taking passage aboard RMS Briton they enjoyed the long voyage down, but on the approach to Table Bay at the end of the journey Ernie was taken ill and died suddenly on the morning of 7 April before the ship reached port. Lily was devastated, but the theatre community in Cape Town rallied around her. Harry Stodel, the local impresario who had booked them stepped in to organise the funeral, while the theatre company from the Tivoli music hall where they had been set to perform helped Lily through this hard time, for which she was very grateful. She was far from home and there are no indications that she had her children there with her to say goodbye to their father when he was buried at Maitland Cemetery, Cape Town on 8 April 1914.

After fulfilling what remained of her contract in South Africa, Lily took her lonely journey home. Back in Britain she quickly returned to her life back on the stage, a necessity now that she was the sole family breadwinner. This was a position made even more tenuous by the outbreak in August of what would become the Great War, with all the upheavals this caused. However, Lily was lucky, her reputation was high and she never stopped working during the war and after a few variety performances in London when she first returned to Britain, her work  took a new direction with regular employment on two long-running stage shows. She first landed a plumb role in the new musical farce Mind Your Own Business, written by Charles Baldwin and directed by Ernest Dottridge. Boasting a cast of forty performers the show starred comedian Arnold Richardson as restaurant proprietor Nathaniel Bloggs, with Lily as his daughter Ella, Vera Hind as a 'Sicilian Syren' and Leyland Hodgson as Ella's sweetheart, Dick.

The show would prove popular as it toured the country and Lily stayed on as a principal member of the cast until the end of 1915. She remained with the company for the winter season panto, but in February 1916, she announced that once the pantomime ended that she would return back to performing in variety. This plan quickly changed, though, when she was snapped up for another musical My Son Sammy, which would provide Lily with work for the rest of the war and beyond. She was again playing one of the principal roles, that of Vera Openshaw, while the titular character Sammy was played by comedian Arthur White, whose antics carried the show. Described in a similar vein to Mind Your Own Business, the show was a musical farce and a topical one with numerous songs touching on the military, such as 'Military Mad' and 'The Chocolate Soldier', the latter sung with verve by Lily herself, for as throughout her career she was widely praised for her commanding presence on stage and the beauty of her singing.

My Son Sammy toured the country with great success, it consistently played to packed houses, audiences seemingly delighting in anything that distracted them from the grim news from the front. Sometimes during a stop over, the cast would break off from their normal routine to put on special performances for wounded servicemen in the numerous war hospitals dotted around the country. For instance, in October 1918, Lily and her fellow performers were at the Grand Theatre, Hanley and put on just such a variety performance at the local war hospital, where many of the wounded were stretchered in by members of the Royal Army Medical Corps. It was a great success and Lily shone on home turf where she 'delighted the audience with her charming rendering of “The end of a journey.” In response to a determined encore she gave the popular “Joan of Arc” in splendid style.'

A few days later the company moved on to Middlesbrough and it was whilst there that on 11 November 1918, that the armistice was signed and the war ended.

The show went on for two more years with Lily still playing her part. Her career was going well, but the increasingly poor health of her mother was a concern and in mid-May 1920, whilst in Wigan, Lily suffered a nervous breakdown due to stress. The Stage put this down to her punishing work schedule, noting that she had played over a thousand performances in My Son Sammy. This was doubtless a factor, but by now her mother was in the last weeks of a long and painful illness. Lily recovered and trouper that she was got back to work a fortnight later in St Helens. However, on 21 June 1920, Martha Longsdale died back in Derby, putting a stop once more to Lily's performances. She and her relatives met up three days later in Tunstall for her mother's burial in the local churchyard.

Following this traumatic event Lily briefly left the cast of My Son Sammy and by mid-July she was headlining at the Gaiety, Durham as the star of The Rainbow Girl, described in the bylines as 'The most gorgeous and refined attraction of modern times'. Perhaps her time on this show was simply to give her a break from her normal routine and to allow her to pull herself together, or maybe she found that she could not fit into the new show. Whatever the case, after only a month Lily returned to her regular role in My Son Sammy. And there she remained for the next year when in December 1921 a sequel Sammy in Society was produced. Lily reprised the role of Vera Openshaw, but only for a short run of performances. It was time to move on.

Top of the bill. Lily briefly headlines in The Rainbow Girl.

After this long stint of very fixed work Lily moved back into the world of variety and a life akin to that she had led early in her career, and on one occasion at least she is said to have toured abroad once more, this time in Madeira. Also according to her obituary perhaps harking back to her father's choral background, she also occasionally dabbled in oratorio. Her long career now usually saw her receiving top billing wherever she went, but there were fewer mentions of her in the press. There was one notable exception in 1923, albeit for all the wrong reasons, when on 4 November, her son Jack died at the age of 22. He had been ill for some time and his death again hit Lily hard and his passing and funeral were given conciliatory coverage in The Era newspaper. Now there was only Lily and her daughter Lillian, who within a few years also started to pursue a career in the music halls and theatres. Her mother carried on as before.

A photo of Lily from her obituary.

For the next five years Lily worked constantly, but as was the case with many music hall stars, the workload and peripatetic lifestyle started to tell and by her late 40s her health had begun to suffer. In Wolverhampton in August 1928 the end was signalled when she suffered a seizure and collapsed on stage. She sat down to complete her final song, but as soon as the curtain fell Lily was escorted out to a waiting ambulance. What the seizure boded is never made clear, but from what little can be gleaned it ended her career and her life. She never recovered and on 2 March 1929 at the age of 50 she died at the Derbyshire Royal Infirmary. 

More Victims of Isandlwana

A panoramic view of the Isandlwana battlefield. The British camp was situated in the middle of the picture. The Zulu
attack came over the hill line in the distance. The white cairns in the near foreground are British burial pits.

Photo courtesy of Ken Ray

Following on from my earlier post on the local men who fought and fell at the Battle of Isandlwana in 1879, local historian and Zulu War researcher Mr Ken Ray very kindly contacted me with information on several other local soldiers I was not aware of who took part in the battle, to which I have added a little of my own subsequent research.

25B/589 Private Enoch Worthington 1/24th Foot

Enoch Worthington was born in Kidsgrove in 1855, the eldest of four children born to miner John Worthington and his wife Eliza nee Birks. According to the 1871 census the family lived at 65 Heathcote Street and it noted that 16 year old Enoch was employed as a miner. However on 25th April 1875, he enlisted in the army at Newcastle-under-Lyme aged 20 years and 2 months. He saw service in South Africa where Like most of the 1/24th he took part in the campaigns against the Gaika and Galeka tribes during 1877 and 1878 and marched into Zululand with the ill-fated centre column in 1879, being killed with most of his battalion at Isandlwana. Enoch's effects and South Africa Medal with the '1877-8-9' clasp was later claimed by his father.

375 Private Samuel Plant 1/24th Foot
'The mail which arrived at Southampton on Friday brought a letter from Mrs. Plant, who with her husband left England for South Africa twelve years ago. Her husband was in the brave 1st battalion 24th regiment. He was one of the brave but ill fated invaders of Cetewayo's country, who fell in the battle of lsandula.

Private Glass a Hanley man was also in the same battalion, but it is not yet known if he took part in the battle. The following men of the 24th regiment were also in the battle - Private Frederick Butler, Pte. John McNally, Pte. Keats, and Pte. William Henry Hickin.'  

- Staffordshire Sentinel, 3rd March 1879.

References in the local press offer the only clues that Private Plant hailed from the Potteries or North Staffordshire, as what military records survive are silent on his origins. It is known that he served with the 24th Foot from July 1859 and that his wife Mary was placed on the regiment's married establishment on 3rd July 1862. He was no angel and had a couple of runs in with the military courts, the first two days after this on 5th July 1862 at Portsmouth, where he was charged with desertion and loss of necessaries. Found guilty he was sentenced to 84 days 'HL & D' (hard labour & discipline?) plus stoppages.*  Seven years later at Preston on 14th May 1869, Plant and two others from the regiment were charged with desertion and re-enlisting. That he was sentenced to 168 days HL as opposed to the lesser sentences handed out to his fellows perhaps indicates that he was the chief troublemaker.**

During 1876 - 1877, Plant served in H Company 1/24th at St Helena, before crossing over to South Africa to play his part in the Kaffir and Zulu Wars. Like his fellows he was killed at Isandlwana and was posthumously awarded the South Africa 1877-8-9 medal, which with his personal effects was claimed by his widow.

* WO86/12 Judge Advocate General's Office: District Courts Martial Registers, Home and Abroad (1861-1862)
** WO86/18 Judge Advocate General's Office: District Courts Martial Registers, Home and Abroad  (1869- 1870)


25B/586 Private Samuel Poole, 2/24th Foot
There were three, possibly four Samuel Pooles born in or around the Potteries in the years 1853 and 1854, which seems to have been the approximate time of his birth. In fact there is no indication that he was actually born in the area, merely that he enlisted in Hanley on 27th April 1875 aged 21 years. Records state that he served in G Company 2/24th and his South Africa Medal 1877-8-9 shows that he served in the Kaffir and Zulu Wars, being killed at Isandlwana. His medal and effects were claimed by his brothers.

1576 Private David Pritchard 2/24th Foot
Pritchard is said to have been born in Stoke-upon-Trent, in about 1844-45, though no one of that name is noted in the civil records, so that may not have been his real name. He attested for the army in Hanley on 11th January 1865 aged 20 and saw service with the battalion in its numerous postings. In 1872 he was in India, where he got into trouble. On 13th March 1872 he stood trial at Secunderabad charged with 'receiving money from a prisoner charged with stealing money'. He was sentenced to 14 days hard labour.* Nearly three years later, now back in Britain, Pritchard absconded off furlough on 14 December 1874 and found himself being listed as a deserter in the Police Gazette. Interestingly, this gives us a description of the man, noting his birthplace as Stoke-upon-Trent it stated that he had formerly been employed as a forgeman. He was 29 years old, 5' 8¾" high, had dark brown hair, hazel eyes, a dark complexion and was last seen at Aldershot wearing his regimentals.**

It is unclear when Pritchard was caught or returned to the Colours, but he was posthumously granted the South Africa 1877-8-9 campaign medal for his service against the Gaikas and Galekas and his brief involvement in the Zulu War, yet another casualty of the battle of Isandlwana. Records indicate that Private Pritchard served in B Company, though that was the company posted at Rorke's Drift, which indicates that he had switched to Pope's G Company at some point.

* WO86/21 Judge Advocate General's Office: District Courts Martial Registers, Home and Abroad  
** Police Gazette, 1st June 1875

* * * *

Though not related to the photograph at the head of this post, the following notes written up by Ken make a good guess at the distribution of the locally born soldiers involved in the battle of Isandlwana and speculates at where their remains might now be interred.

'Update on local men K.I.A Battle of Isandhlawana

It is impossible to locate graves/cairns of our local soldiers on the battlefield as sadly the graves are not named as several, or more soldiers remains are buried there. But due to my research I have a good idea where some of them would have fought and died.

I have marked in red on photo where the six British Infantry Company's were positioned at the time of the battle. Shown left to right the first five company's were men of the 1st 24th foot. The sixth Company nearest the track were men of the 2nd 24th foot under the command of Lieut. Pope. Three members of this company were born ,or lived in Stoke on Trent. They were - Pte Samuel Poole, Sergeant William Shaw and Pte David Pritchard, all died fighting the Zulu Ngobamkhosi Regiment, and it is said that this company with our three local men was amongst the last British company to hold out until the end?

A corporal and private of the 24th Foot in
1879. In reality their campaign dress would
have been much more rough and ready.

It is very possible that these three local men's remains are buried near the track or further up the hill? The other four local men's remains from the 1st 24th foot would be almost impossible to locate Pte's Glass, Hicken, Plant and Worthington. They would have all first fought around the perimeter of the camp, but could have died and been buried where they stood, or died escaping through the camp or further on towards the Buffalo river?

NOTE — About four months after the battle the soldiers remains were more or less buried intact but over the years due to soil erosion, bad weather, wind and rain etc some of the bones have come to the surface would have got scattered about possibly by wild animals and later buried again with other men's remains.

The reason why Lieut. Pope's G did not leave the Isandhlawana camp with the other five companies of the 2nd 24th was that at the time they were out on outpost duty. The other 2nd 24th company was the famous one stationed at Rorke's Drift.

Ken Ray 2019.'

Teddy Boy (Part 1)

Bill Cooper (third from left) in his early days as a Ted.

'When I was 14 and still living in Nelson Place with my sister Minnie and her family, two of my mates who were older than me had asked me if I wanted to go dancing. I said, “Dancing. I’ve never danced in my life except some square dancing at the church hall. Where you going?” They said “The skating rink, they’re playing rock and roll.” I said, “Rock and roll, what’s that?” - “Haven’t you heard those new records on the radio?” They said.

Well, I wasn’t all that interested at first, but I said I’d think about it. They were going on the Tuesday, so I tuned in to the radio after this just to find out what they were on about. The first rock and roll record I ever heard, even before Bill Haley and the Comets, was by Boyd Bennett and the Sky Rockets. It was one that was imported from America, you never heard it much because they didn’t play that sort of stuff on the wireless much then, it was mainly crooners and big band sounds like Victor Sylvester, Edmundo Ros and Ted Heath.

Anyway, I went to the dance. It was at the Ideal Skating Rink; they had dancing there on Tuesdays and Saturday nights and as I was tall for my age they thought I was 15 and they let me in. I enjoyed myself, but I was still a bit shy so didn’t dance, I stood at the side talking to some girls from school and some older ones who’d already left. They were all asking me why I was there. I went again the next week and this time I had a few dances and started to like it. They were still doing what they called jive which had been introduced when the Americans were here during the war. It was very similar to what they called bopping, only to big band music. But that wasn’t in the Teddy Boy era; it hadn’t started around here yet. 

Of course, when the first rock music came out, the big band stuff and the jive had had it, that had gone. When Elvis and Bill Haley came out, we didn’t want to know that other stuff, all we wanted was rock music. And when proper rock and roll dancing came in, the Teddy Boys appeared. The Teddy Boy era didn’t last all that long. It started in about 1953 and by 1959 it was all over, around here at least. I first decided to be a Teddy Boy after seeing an article in the 'Daily Mirror' about lads in London dressing as Teddy Boys. Anyhow after the article in the 'Mirror' about the Teddy Boys in London, of course it spread all over the country and they started appearing around Hanley. I saw one or two and then more started dressing like that, then as I say, I became one as well. My family didn’t mind about me becoming a Teddy Boy. Minnie wasn’t really bothered, she knew it was the 'in' thing then and that I liked dancing. Her kids, Marie, Margaret and all the others would say “Where you going?” when I used to start getting dressed up to go out on a Saturday night.  

Weekday wear.

In the week we'd wear jeans and bomber jackets, sometimes leatherette or leather if we were well off, but at the weekend we’d never go out without a suit on and a tie. That was the real Teddy Boy look - it took Edwardian style dress and exaggerated it a bit. I think we took some style from the pictures too, like the film 'Beau Brummell', that one with Stewart Granger. I know Beau Brummell wasn’t Edwardian, but he was a dandy and if you watch that film you’ll see the influence there, the flashy cravats and ties. The long coats were the main thing that made us stand out, some with fancy lapels and we wore drainpipe trousers that tight that you used to have to sometimes lie down on the bed to pull them on. But a lot of the tailors in Stoke-on-Trent wouldn’t make you a Teddy Boy suit, I don’t know why - they just wouldn’t do it. To get a Teddy Boy suit, I had to hunt around and finally got one made at a private place down in Shelton. It cost me £15, which was a lot of money then, even when I worked in the pit. At one time, though, I did have a real Edwardian suit. The bloke next door, Lily Kondratiuk’s father, saw me dressing up one night and he said, “That looks like Edwardian stuff.” and I said, “That’s how they’re beginning to dress now. They call them Teddy Boys.” He says, “Well, I’ve got one of them suits, but it’s in the pawn shop. If you want it, here’s the ticket; go get it.” 

Anyway, I went up to get it and it was absolutely brilliant! Jet black it was, with a waistcoat. When I put it on it was a perfect fit because he was same build as me then. I bought a pair of black shoes to go with it, a fancy white shirt with frills on and a string tie. My mates were jealous to death. They said, “Where’ve you had that made?” I said, “I haven’t had it made. It’s older than any of us this is.” I wore it for ages, it was a lovely suit.

Another time, I bought a Teddy Boy jacket on its own. A grey one it was, very long, down to my knees. I’d only worn it a couple of times, but with sweating from all the dancing I did the lapels went crinkled on both sides. I said to one of the lads, “I onna bloody wearing this again. It’s had it.” To my surprise, though, he said, ‘Hey, it’s great! I wish I’d got one like that.’ What it was, after the dancing I’d put a big duffle coat over the top of my jacket - a big black one with those big peg buttons - and it held all the sweat in and made the jacket all wrinkled down the lapels. Everyone said it looked good, so I wore it all the time after that. 

We also used to wear fancy shirts as well. We’d think nothing of wearing bright orange shirts, or pink or yellow. Tony Hughes was best when he came in a frilly shirt. He met us outside the Albion and when he arrived he’d got his big duffle coat on and he says, “I’ve bought a new shirt.” That was nothing new because we used to buy shirts regularly. Anyhow, we went inside the Albion for a couple of drinks and said, “Let’s have a look at it then.” He took his coat off and it had frills all round his collar like lace, all around his wrists and lace sticking out all down the front. Harold Hale said, “You look like a big girl, you do!” We were all laughing, but it was different and the following week, we’d all got them on. They didn’t last long though, as they were right buggers to iron. Minnie had to iron my shirts, I couldn’t iron shirts, I'd just iron the front and put it on. When she saw these frilly shirts, though, Minnie said, “What the bloody hell have you brought me here for iron?”

The Tony Curtis look was in, so you had to have a quiff as well. I went to see how much it cost to have it cut in that style - I was told 10 shilling, which was an astronomic price! So, I did it myself, they showed you how to in a paper. To do your quiff you’d comb your hair up, then just pull it forward. I used sugar and water mixed. What you did was you mixed the sugar and water, not much water, but plenty of sugar. The water had to be aired so the sugar was just starting to melt and then you dug your hands in it and rubbed it hard until it melted right down, you could feel it sticky on your hands and you rubbed it on. Then you combed your hair and that’s it, it stayed. Mind you, my first go wasn’t all that brilliant, my hair was too short and it came out all spiky.

Bill Cooper, Harold Hale (on bike) and Ronnie Williams.

I had plenty of friends to go out with. There was still John and Harold Hale from Nelson Place. They were Teds as well, but John more than Harold. There was our cousin Raymond Walsh and Tony Smith, he was only a little guy, he was only about five foot and when he’d got his long jacket on the sleeves hung down to his finger tips. He’s the one that kept getting into bloody trouble all the time and expected us get him out of it. There were a lot of us. There was Brian Ward, Ronnie Williams, Billy Gilbert, Bernard Shaw and others. There was quite a few of us from the Nelson Place area, but not the older ones; those that were two or three years older than me and who I first went dancing with didn’t take it up. 

You could call us a gang, I suppose, but it wasn’t just made up of those I’d known when I was growing up in Nelson Place, there were others that we’d meet in dance halls and in pubs. We used to all hang round together. There used to be a bunch of girls with us as well all the time. We would go all over the place dancing, not only in Stoke either, we also went to Manchester.' 

Reference: Interviews with William Cooper, 2007.

Teddy Boy (Part 2)

'The first time we went to Manchester was after we’d talked with a bloke named Danny. I remember him saying he’d been in Manchester on a Saturday night with a couple of mates of his and they’d visited some rock and roll clubs there. Because there wasn’t all that much of it going  on around in Stoke at that time, we started going to Manchester on the train. It used to be 3s/6d return, and the trains used to run every half hour so you could catch one back early in the morning from Manchester to Stoke. We would catch the train at six o’clock on a Saturday night, arriving in Manchester three quarters of an hour later and would go the clubs until one or two o’clock in the morning. Then on the Sunday morning we would catch the mail trains back, that were coming down to deliver the papers from Manchester to Stoke and Birmingham. We went there plenty of times visiting all the different clubs in Moss Side in Manchester.

The Teddy Boy was also a miner. L to R: Stuart Colclough, Bill Cooper and Derek Ford at Hanley Deep Pit.

There were a  few times when we didn't take the train and instead had a lift up there in a car. I worked at Hanley Deep pit at the time and I knew this big, tall black guy named Jim Brown who had come down from Manchester to work in the pits here as he couldn’t get any well paid jobs where he came from. He’d got an old Standard Vanguard car - he was the only bloke I knew that had got a car - and he asked us if we wanted to go with him to Manchester for a weekend. We said “Well, it’s going cost us a bit.” - “Ooh no, you can stay with my family.” he said.

Anyway, he took us, five of us, in his Standard Vanguard, from the pit on a Friday night when we’d finished, straight to Manchester. When we got there we found that his family had a three storey house, a big old Victorian place with a stack of bedrooms! It was like being in one of the boarding houses at Blackpool. His parents were nice people and his mother especially was a right jovial woman! Jim had about five or six brothers and sisters and they all lived at home. I said, “Where are we going stay?” His mother said,” Well, there’s a lot of us here. Just grab somewhere to sleep. There are plenty of rooms. If you go in somebody’s bed you’re all right, they’ll go in another one.”

We went out that first night, but we were all tired because we’d been at work, so we only stayed out until about two o’clock. But on the Saturday night Jim took us to a party in Moss Side,  where all the warehouses were. Going down some steps he opened an ordinary looking door and we went into a huge cellar. There were old settees scattered all around the place and tables too, a band was playing and there were records in between! It was packed, mostly with black people, but there were quite a few white folk there as well. But, bloody hell, it was five o’clock in the morning when we finally came out, from about seven at night! And talk about drunk! Well, they were selling beer out of wooden barrels on trestles and you’d just helped yourself. You just gave them the money and filled your pint; or you could have bottled beer or whisky, or whatever you fancied. It was licensed, the blacks ran their own club. We went again on the Sunday night and then went to come home the next morning, because we had to go work on Monday night. 

We went to that place two or three times and Jim’s mother used to feed us up like mad. She had a large room and she’d had two big tables put in it, with chairs all around and then a kitchen with a serving hatch she’d had knocked in. She said, “I was fed up of carrying the stuff in, so I’ve had this knocked in so I could just pass it through to them.” 

They’d got a big range to cook all the stuff on and two of the grown up girls used to help her. They used to have a stack of food, a quantity of food I’ve never had since. I remember going in once and she said “We’re having chicken.” She got these big bowls out and they were full of chicken legs piled high, all cooked, it was steaming hot and you just helped yourself! 

They seemed to have plenty of money but, there were a lot of them and most of them worked. I’m not sure, but I think I remember something about a shop they’d got. Well in that area there were a lot of big shops down the main street and I think one of them was theirs. The mother didn’t work, I think it was the old man and two or three of the lads that run the shop. But, she used to come with us when we went out at night time, either that or she and the father used to come along later. She would dance as well, she wasn’t all that old, I should say she was in her late forties, but she seemed old to me because I was only sixteen or seventeen.


Reference: Interviews with William Cooper, 2007.

Teddy Boy (Part 3)

Despite all the dancing there was still plenty of time for drinking.

'We'd dance all night. That was the one thing we wanted do, nothing else, just dancing, dancing to rock music, continually. I used to go out dancing five nights a week. I often wonder how I ever made it to the pit the next day because we didn’t just go out for two or three hours at a time, we went out for six or seven hours.  It’s a wonder I wasn’t worn out by the time I was twenty. I’ve got in the house when Minnie was in, taken my big duffle coat and jacket off and my shirt was stuck to me, wringing wet. She’d say to me “You’ll finish up with bloody pneumonia.”

When you wanted to go dancing in Stoke, you’d either go up the Ideal Skating Rink, or to the TA places, like the one at the top of Bucknall Road. But after a while we started clubs of our own, one at Meakin's club near Meakin’s pot bank and we started another for rock and roll dancers at the Northwood Mission. It was there I taught Minnie's eldest Marie how to rock and roll and she used to go up the Northwood Mission with me on a Tuesday night. 

There were bigger halls of course, but they wouldn't let us in. You couldn’t get into Kings Hall if you were wearing a Teddy Boy suit in the early 1950’s, they’d kick you out. They probably thought we were going smash the place up. Aye, well, some of them did! There were plenty of fights. Every time you went anywhere there was nearly always a punch up. It was like it is now, no different - boozing and fighting. No different at all. The only thing that wasn’t around then much was drugs. You could get marijuana - a couple of sailors, blokes doing their National Service used to sell it at the Ideal - but at five bob a time it was too much. It was expensive five shilling was! A pint of mild was seven pence and the bitter was nine pence a pint. So reckon that up. You could have nearly six pints for five shilling. I mean, it used to be a shilling to go in the dance hall.

In the Ideal they didn’t sell alcoholic drinks, you could only have orange squash, tea or coffee. If you wanted a drink you used to have to go out and when you went out they stamped your hand so you could get back in again. You could guarantee that everyone would rush in quick, get a seat in there, or sit around the side, because you danced on the skating rink. All as they did was throw chalk down to make it less slippery, because they had ballroom dancing and then jiving in between that. They played a bit of ballroom, a bit of jiving. We all used to go in and get a seat, but you could guarantee at half past nine that half of them would be across the Sea Lion, or the Golden Lion further down.

Well at that time when I was seventeen I only had to have three pints and I was drunk! But some were worse. One of my mates, Tony Smith, he was terrible at getting us in fights when he'd been drinking. Terrible, he was. We got that fed up with him that we used to tell the blokes he was falling out with “Give him a bloody good hiding, it'll serve him right. He only does it for try and drag us in for pull him out again.” One bloke did give him a good slapping one night. We said to Tony afterwards “That serves you bloody right. It’ll teach you a lesson that will.” Mind you, they could have hurt him bad because there was a gang of them that night, but they let this one lad slap him around, he didn’t hurt him all that much anyway.

Then on another occasion, about six of us were sitting down at the side in the Ideal and Tony says “That bloody lad over there keeps bumping into me when I’m dancing.” We said, “Well what’s up with that?” He says, “He won’t do it again.” Next minute he runs on the floor, jumps on this bloke’s back and starts pulling him over. He’d been drinking and being the size he was he only had to have a pint and he was drunk. Of course, this bloke’s mates all started kicking and hitting Tony so we all joined in. They finished up chucking us out and it took us three weeks to get back in again. We had to go up and apologise to them.

With the boys in Blackpool.

I remember one big punch up in a dance hall at Blackpool when I was about eighteen or nineteen. It was absolutely packed in there. They’d got these three rock bands on and it was just solid rock and roll. There was a big gang of us and we were dancing with these girls from different parts of the country when the fight started. The next thing I knew a fist had hit the side of my face. Then somebody hit me with something. Then I was hitting somebody else. The next minute I said to Harold and John Hale and one or two others, “Come on! Out of here!” We dashed through the door and ran on up the stairs to the balcony, then we were looking over the top watching them fight. Then all these security blokes in uniforms came in. They just grabbed anyone who was fighting and must have thrown about a hundred and fifty of them out. We got well out of that, but my ear hurt the next day where somebody had punched me!

I’ve been in fights when they’ve been whirling bike chains, once at Blackpool and once down Stoke when one of us got stabbed. It was that quick. I remember leaning over him with a jumper, holding it on the wound until the ambulance came. The blood seemed to be everywhere! But I suppose it seemed a lot because he was wearing a white shirt. I think he must have been stabbed with a penknife myself. He was all right, though, it wasn’t all that deep. He was out next day walking around. I saw him in the pub. I said, “Art owrate? I thought thay'd have been in hospital for a month!”  He says, “Nah, they give me a couple of pints of blood and stitched me up.” I said, “Let’s have a look.” - three stitches. The best part of it, him that got stabbed, he’d only been with us about three or four times. He was no trouble at all, he wasn’t aggressive or anything. It wasn’t his fault, it was just that the fight started and he was the one that was in the road and got stabbed. And those that started it had all run. Of course the cops came and they were asking us all these questions, who was it, what’s their names - and how the bloody hell did we know? We didn’t know them. We just got into a fight with them in a dance hall which finished up outside.

I saw a lot of rockers and bands in the 50s and early 60s. Roy Wood of Wizard, I saw him when he was nobody, when he first started out. Joe Brown and the Brothers too and Tommy Steele. One time, I think it was with Ted Heath and his orchestra, Cliff Richard and the Shadows were there and me and Tony Hughes were talking to Cliff outside. He’d got a pink jacket on, a black shirt and a pink tie. We’d come out, we’d seen the show, come round the side, round where that little car park is - the stage door used to be there. Anyway, he was there with two of the Shadows - I think it was that Bruce Welch who used to play with them and somebody else. But they went in and we were talking to Cliff - I can’t remember what we said to him. I know Tony Hughes had his autograph, but we were talking to him for about five minutes and then he says, “I’ll have to go, because we’ve got another show.” And he went in. He was standing outside, he wasn’t smoking but the other two were. And then the Americans started coming to the Theatre Royal, but I can’t remember them all. And then what happened in 1965, when Rock and Roll was still going - even though the Teddy Boy era had finished - and it was bigger than ever? He came here, Chuck Berry, the greatest.

The Teddy Boy era went, though. As quick as it started, it finished, it just died out almost overnight. The music was still there, rock music was as big as ever, it’s just that the people themselves changed, I don’t why. I think it was partly because the Teddy Boy suits got that expensive; the tailors they twigged on. Plus the Teddy Boys, they started getting married and what have you and a lot of them were called up for the army, because National Service was still on. So, it just died out everywhere. But, they were good exciting years and I wouldn’t have missed them for anything.'

Reference: Interviews with William Cooper, 2007.

The Prehistoric Potteries

The Carboniferous landscape

The geological history of Stoke-on-Trent began over 300 million years ago in the Carboniferous period of the Palaeozoic era. At that time, the geological layers that today form part of the substrata of modern Britain were part of a giant landmass, the mighty super-continent of Pangaea. Over the eons Pangaea broke apart and millions of years more of creeping continental drift  moved one of its large fragments, the future continent of Europe, into the temperate climes of the northern hemisphere that it occupies today. In the Carboniferous period, however, Britain and its near neighbours lay in the tropics, just south of the equator and the land that now forms North Staffordshire was part of an extended coastal region. Lying where it did, the surface of the land here fluctuated just above or just below sea level, a situation which produced the varied deposits that make up the modern geology of North Staffordshire. 

The earliest of this local strata, comprising millstone grit and early sandstone, were laid down as thick oozing sediments on the prehistoric ocean floor. Occasionally, every million years or so, these accumulating layers would form into a delta, which pushed itself above sea level. Here, once a layer of earth had been laid down, peat deposits formed from vast steamy jungles of prehistoric plants that quickly colonised the swampy flood plains. Eventually, though, the sea returned, the plants died and the jungle floor silted over, entombing the lower layers in the geological record. As the aeons passed, the accumulating sediments once again clogged the shoreline, turning it in time into a swamp once more. This natural cycle, repeated itself many times during the 65 million years of the Carboniferous period and over time heat and pressure would squeeze the water out of the accumulating layers and crush them solid. Mud, silt and sand became shale, siltstone and sandstone. The layer of earth that had covered the raised delta, was transformed into seat earth, from which fireclay formed, while the millions of years worth of accumulated peat that lay above it, was over time compacted into rich seams of coal.

About 285 million years ago, however, this cycle came to an end. Conditions changed drastically, the land rose and most of the jungles disappeared. It was during this period that the thick band of common clay, the so-called Etruria marl, which with the coal measures later assured the rise of the Staffordshire pottery industry, was laid down as a reddish sediment that filtered into the remaining coastal lagoons. The climate then grew much hotter, turning the jungles to deserts, the sands of which now form the Triassic sandstones of Staffordshire, such as may be seen at Park Hall and Trentham. Later in the Triassic period, however, the waters returned once again, covering the deserts and Staffordshire spent the bulk of the Mesozoic era, the age of the dinosaurs, at the bottom of a warm, shallow sea.

Many millions of years later, when the seas had subsided and the land had been folded up by movements in the earth’s crust, the upper layers were periodically raked by the passage of ice sheets. The coming and going of these glaciers had a number of effects on the area. They gouged out valleys and dropped 'erratics' or large boulders all over the district, a notable example of which (seen here) until a few years ago used to sit outside the Staffordshire University Film Theatre in Stoke. 

The passage of the glaciers also exposed the ancient shoreline deposits, bringing a wealth of raw materials within easy reach. These deposits have also yielded a great many fossils, revealing the variety of animal life that once walked, or swam, over the Potteries. Though no dinosaur bones have been discovered, the fossilised remains of various ancient fish, lizards and some prehistoric mammals, have been found within the confines of the City of Stoke on Trent. For instance, there are the remains of prehistoric sharks that once swam over what is now Longton and Fenton. Mammoth bones have also been unearthed. In his Natural History of Staffordshire, published in 1686, Dr Robert Plot describes the jaw and tooth of a ‘young elephant’, that was found in a marl pit on the Leverson Gower estate in Trentham. Plot, living in an age where natural history was a very patchy science, believed this to be the remains of a modern elephant that had been brought to England and perhaps kept for prestige and entertainment of a local lord, though this seems very unlikely. More bones and tusks have been discovered in Stoke Road, Shelton and in another marl pit in Fenton. In 1877, when the course of the Fowlea Brook, near Etruria Station was being altered, the skull and horn cores of a Bos taurus primogenous, or auroch, a prehistoric wild ox, much larger than a modern-day bison, was discovered. According to Josiah Wedgwood, many fossils were unearthed by James Brindley’s men when they were cutting the Grand Junction Canal, but nothing of these remains save for the briefest mention of various plant impressions and the finding of a rib from some giant unknown animal.

Dandy Dogs and the Mad Cat Artist

When he paid a visit to the Potteries in the summer of 1874, journalist James Greenwood noted that Hanley was a town full of dogs:

'Tykes of all ages, sizes, and complexions sprawl over the pavements, and lounge at the thresholds of doors, and sit at the windows, quite at their ease, with their heads reposing on the window-sill, hob-and-nob with their biped "pal," who cuddles his four-footed friend lovingly round the neck with one arm, while his as yet unwashed mining face, black and white in patches as the dog's is, beams with that satisfaction which con­tent and pleasant companionship alone can give.'

Some of the prize winning animals at the 1885 Hanley dog show.

How accurate a portrait of the town this was is open to debate as Greenwood immediately went on to write the infamous story of the 'man and dog fight' that scandalised the area, a tale that ultimately backfired on him when it became pretty obvious that he had concocted the whole story. Yet there is plenty of evidence to suggest at least in the comment above that Greenwood was not being untruthful and the locals were indeed keen pet owners and dog fanciers. A dog and poultry show was regularly held in Hanley from 1865 into the 1870s and in October 1883 Hanley hosted a major dog show organised by the North Staffordshire Kennel Club. This proved so successful that in February 1885 a second exhibition took place. This was larger and much more widely reviewed by the press, attracting not only local but national and even international attention.

Held over two days 24th and 25th February in the old covered market in Hanley, there were 774 entries for the show and there could have been more but for a lack of space. Most of the major show breeds were present in large numbers. There were 170 fox terriers; 74 St Bernards; 27 mastiffs; 22 pointers; 18 setters; 88 collies; 34 bull dogs; 20 bull terriers; 48 dachshunds; 18 pugs; and six bloodhounds. Add to this the more obscure dogs and hounds, some from abroad, plus some champion dogs including five mastiffs who had secured honours at the prestigious Crystal Palace shows, and you had you had a major treat for dog lovers from across Britain. Anticipating a good turnout both the North Staffordshire and London and North Western Railways issued cheap tickets for those wanting to attend the show.

Providing a series of illustrations for The Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News, was Louis Wain, the artist who in later life went mad and spent his latter years painting numerous pictures of sinister anthropomorphic cats. At the time of the Hanley dog show, however, he was still quite sane and penned a series of fine dog portraits and whimsical side illustrations. The most amusing sketch showed a carriage trundling its way up the bank from Stoke Station up into Hanley, bringing with it a fine collection of prize pooches, large and small, riding in or on top, or running behind the coach, evidently much to the astonishment of onlookers.

Another of Wain's illustrations showed that once in the market hall the various dogs were housed in a series of pens ready for the viewing of the general public and while they waited on the judges to do their rounds. There were a few problems. A reviewer in the same paper that carried Wain's illustrations noted that quite a few of the dogs on show still bore evidence of a mange epidemic that had recently swept the country. Most were over the disease and the worst effects they showed were rather patchy coats, but a few displayed signs that their condition was still 'alive', much to the reviewer's alarm. The entry of such obviously infected dogs he put down to the laxness of the 'honorary veterinary surgeon' and the inconsiderate nature of some owners. This was all the more surprising as one of the Kennel Club's rules stated quite forcefully that no dog suffering from mange or any other infectious disease would be allowed to compete or be entitled to receive a prize.

The writer also suggested that the chains holding the dogs in their pens were in many cases far too long. Some of the dogs were fierce or excitable and in their frenzy apt to fall over the edge of their bench and with the smaller dogs in danger of hanging themselves. Wain illustrated the point with a picture showing a placid St Bernard face to face with a group of irate terriers, one of whom had taken just such a tumble and was in danger of throttling itself. The long chains also allowed more mischief as some of the animals were able to get around the partitions and engage in scraps with their surprised neighbours.

In the long run, though, these were minor issues in what turned out to be a very successful and well organised show. And as can be seen from Louis Wain's fine illustrations, despite the ravages of the mange epidemic there were still many handsome dogs on hand to pick up the numerous prizes. So popular did the exhibition prove that another show was organised early the next year and the competition carried on through the latter years of the 19th century expanding into a dog and cat show by the late 1890s.

References: The Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News, 7 March 1885 pp. 607, 617, 623.  James Greenwood, Low Life Deeps, pp. 16-17

Pictures: Author's collection.