Читать книгу Diamonds Are Forever - Shirley Bassey - Mary Long - Страница 7

I do not know when I first heard Shirley Veronica Bassey sing, but I remember vividly the day I first saw her in concert: it was Good Friday, 12 April 1963, and that was the day I became an ardent fan.

My mum and dad had been fans for several years prior to ’63. I can remember my parents always listening with a special intensity whenever Shirley came on the radio, and particularly enjoying Miss Bassey on television. Living in the London suburb of Ilford in the early sixties, we didn’t have a record player, let alone a radiogram, so those televised ‘appearances’ presented us with the rare opportunity to see Shirley and hear her incredible voice. So when, by chance, on a March evening I bought an evening paper and saw the advertisement announcing the ‘fabulous Shirley Bassey’ would be appearing in concert at the London Palladium, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Would it be possible to go to this famous theatre and attend my first concert? What a place to start.

Fortunately, the April date fell close to my mum’s birthday, so my dad didn’t need much persuading when I suggested we take Mum as a birthday treat (I hasten to add it was a wonderful treat for us too). As I seem to remember, my dad, almost immediately, telephoned the London Palladium box office, from the nearby telephone box, and reserved three tickets for the Good Friday concert. In the sixties it was quite normal to reserve theatre tickets that were then paid for on collection from the theatre box office at some stage prior to the concert.

A few days later we walked into the box office, located immediately to the side of the main theatre entrance, looking down on us were black-and-white portrait photographs of the world’s greatest entertainers – Frank Sinatra, Judy Garland, Bing Crosby, Dean Martin etc. – all of whom had performed at this legendary theatre. Shirley was no stranger to the theatre; her Sunday Night at the London Palladium television appearance in 1961 had brought her to the attention of many in the early days of her career. Now, however, she was recognised as a ‘star’ and heading the bill.

We headed to one of the ticket-office attendants from whom we were separated by the glass screen which had a small semicircular opening through which our tickets would be dispensed. First, ‘Would you like to see the seating plan?’ ‘Yes please,’ came my dad’s reply and the attendant held up the plan, which showed every seat in the theatre – stalls, royal circle, upper circle and boxes. ‘Your seats are here,’ she said as she pointed with her pencil to three seats in the front row of the royal circle, A24 to A26. She continued, ‘they are very good seats.’ I couldn’t believe it. My dad paid the money, 60 shillings (£3) in total and those lovely green tickets slid through the opening of the glass window. I was over the moon, although the four-week wait seemed a lifetime.

Good Friday, 12 April was upon us and I found it hard to contain my excitement. As we had decided to ‘make a day of it’, we travelled to London in the morning. Miss Bassey would be giving two performances and we were booked to attend the first, scheduled to commence at 5.30pm. I don’t remember what we did prior to arriving at the London Palladium. We must have walked around and gone to eat, those things I can’t recall, but once at the theatre the memory cells certainly played the role I required of them.

It was late afternoon when we walked round to the backstage-door entrance of the theatre. There were a number of people waiting by a set of wooden gates, which opened to expose an area large enough in which to park a removal van. At the rear a few steps led down to a dark-red stage door, but there was nothing glamorous about this scene. I had spoken to a few of the people gathered outside but nobody knew for sure if Miss Bassey was inside the theatre or if indeed she was due to arrive. I was just sixteen and although experiencing ‘butterflies’ got up enough courage to go down the steps and open the stage door. On the other side I immediately faced the stage doorman, sitting inside a very tiny office, and I nervously but politely asked if Miss Bassey was in the theatre.

He easily recognised me as an excited fan and said, ‘We are expecting Miss Bassey to arrive shortly.’ Thanking him, I retreated as gracefully as I could and took up a position by the edge of the gates. I had come prepared for the moment: I had an 8- by 6-inch black-and-white photograph of Miss Bassey in hand, which I had recently purchased, and my biro was at the ready.

I didn’t have long to wait before I heard cries of, ‘Here she comes’ from the crowd, and moments later a large limousine came to a halt at the very spot where I stood. I glanced through the window, then the car door opened gently against me and I was facing Miss Shirley Bassey. ‘Could I please have your autograph Miss Bassey,’ I mumbled. She looked at me and for a moment I thought it was to be. Then Miss Bassey said, ‘If I sign for one, it will be very disappointing for everyone else’, and she was quickly ushered down the steps I had recently trod to the stage door. I know what you are thinking: I must have been disappointed. Well, actually, I was not. I kept thinking about Miss Bassey’s words and realised how disappointed I would have been if she had signed an autograph for someone else. To me Miss Bassey had considered all of the fans waiting to greet her and I respected her decision. I knew then that one day I would get her autograph and I would value it all the more. Right now I was on cloud nine, having seen her up close. I remember everyone around me chatting happily; the air seemed filled with excitement. Gradually, the crowd that had gathered slowly started to disperse, the majority heading to the main entrance of the theatre.

The London Palladium dates back to 1910 and in the sixties it was one of the best-known theatres in the country. As I stepped on the red carpet, climbing the stairs to the royal circle, it seemed magical. The atmosphere sent shivers down our spines and we sensed we were about to experience something very special.

The show opened with Woolf Phillips and his Orchestra, featuring several orchestral ‘standards’ prior to Russ Shepherd, Matt Monro’s musical director, taking over the baton. We were then treated to some fine singing by Matt Monro. Matt was enjoying international stardom, having had hits such as ‘Portrait of My Love’, ‘My Kind of Girl’ and ‘Softly As I Leave You’. However, although my parents and I enjoyed his voice very much, I personally was not ‘blown away’ by watching him perform live onstage.

When it came to the intermission we went to the bar. I was almost sick with excitement, and then I started to worry. Maybe I was expecting too much – when I saw Miss Bassey, what if it seemed no different to watching her on TV! Thankfully, I didn’t have long to consider how I felt; the bell was sounding in the theatre bar indicating it was time to return to our seats. A24, centre front row of the royal circle, placed me directly in line with the microphone which stood centre stage. The orchestra, under the leadership of Shirley’s musical director, Raymond Long (no relation), started to play. Suddenly the 2,000-plus audience, which had been rather reserved during the first half of the concert, broke into spontaneous applause, and standing there before me, onstage, was Miss Shirley Bassey in a glittering gown, her hair up high. Immediately she went into song and that incredible voice we now know so well echoed around the auditorium. I was captivated. Between numbers the audience applauded wildly and I could hear the enthusiasm from my mum and dad, but I dared not look at them. My eyes were firmly fixed on Shirley and I didn’t want to miss one moment. It was magic, and to coin a modern phase, a ‘life changing moment’ for me.

I cannot recall every song sung during that performance – the programme listed eleven – but I do remember two numbers in particular, which were not listed. These were, ‘If I Were A Bell’, which Shirley had recorded with Geoff Love & His Orchestra on the long-playing record, simply entitled Shirley, and ‘Johnny One Note’, which I had never previously heard.

Apart from an incredible voice, Shirley had this unbelievable stage presence. Sometimes criticised for overplaying her arm and hand movements on TV, onstage these movements where highly appropriate and used to perfection. When she sang, ‘If I Were a Bell’, you have the lyrics ‘If I were a bell I’d go ding, dong, ding, dong, ding’. With arms, hands and fingers outstretched, Shirley precisely moved her thumb and forefinger together as she sang ‘ding’. The second finger touched the thumb on the ‘dong’, then the third finger and thumb on the next ‘ding’, returning to the thumb and forefinger by the time the final ‘ding’ was sung. It was magical to hear and watch.

Then came ‘Johnny One Note’, written by Rodgers and Hart in 1937 (the year Shirley was born), for the musical ‘Babes in Arms’. I could not recall the song, or if I had, it did not leave a lasting impression upon me. In 1948 it had been recorded by Judy Garland; in 1956 jazz singers Blossom Dearie and Ella Fitzgerald both made recordings, followed in 1960 by Anita O’Day, so ‘Johnny’ had been around! Right now, before me, however, Miss Bassey was making the song her own. The fast tempo arrangement, the diction which stressed every word of the lyric and that voice, so damn powerful. Yet Shirley had learned the art of control and made it seemed so easy. Although I was only sixteen, I realised it wasn’t just Miss Bassey’s tremendous natural talent on display: She had worked hard during her early years developing into the ‘star’, like no other, we now saw before us. Building up towards ‘Johnny’s’ end, Shirley sang, ‘sing Johnny one note out loud’, holding on to ‘loud’… seemingly forever. The audience erupted, almost raising the London Palladium’s rafters.

Shirley continued to ‘sell’ every song, among them, ‘What Kind of Fool am I’, ‘As Long As He Needs Me’, ‘They Can’t Take That Away From Me’ and ‘What Now My Love’, the latter from her recent LP release entitled, Shirley Bassey with Nelson Riddle and His Orchestra. It seemed all to soon that Shirley exited the stage, but she returned to acknowledge the audience’s ovation, I rose to my feet shouting for more along with my mum and dad and everyone around me. We were rewarded, as I recall, with ‘The Party’s Over’, which made me feel rather sad. More thunderous applause. I am sure if it hadn’t been for the fact that Miss Bassey had another performance later that evening, and the theatre had to be cleared, the audience would have remained there all night, transfixed by what they had just experienced. When the curtain finally dropped, the music started to drift away and the applause gradually faded as we were encouraged to leave our seats. I finally looked at my mum and dad and from their expressions it was clear they were as thrilled as I. However, I did wonder if they felt as exalted! I had clapped and cheered for all I was worth and my watch had actually stopped due to the rigorous wrist movements I had made whilst clapping so enthusiastically.

Perhaps now would be an appropriate time to mention something about the audience, since it mainly consisted of middle-aged, smartly dressed couples. Going to the theatre in the 1960s was a special occasion, people wore there ‘best frocks’, or ‘Sunday best’ as it was called. It would also be correct to describe the audience that night as generally reserved. Indeed, I was very reserved, and somewhat surprised to find myself standing and shouting out for more. A young girl could be forgiven, but surprisingly I was not alone: the majority of this older reserved audience was acting in the same manner. Importantly though, we only let our feelings of appreciation come into play once each song had ended. This audience of the sixties, and for that matter those in later years, listened to every note. There were often times when you could hear a pin drop. I have to confess, I miss that type of audience nowadays and doubt they will ever return. I wonder, if the opportunity were ever to present itself to see Miss Bassey in concert again, I could live with the audience of today. People seem to feel they must show off their own musical talent, which they believe they have, and sing along with the performer. Is this what reality TV has given us! Let’s get back to the sixties, when what we heard was pure Bassey – and I thank God for that!

As we made our way out of the theatre, we found ourselves very near to the spot where we had seen Shirley arrive earlier in the day. The transformation from the Shirley Bassey we had seen stepping out of the car to the ‘fabulous’ Miss Bassey onstage was magical, yet both had me mesmerised. That night I had become one of her ardent fans and somehow I knew I would remain so throughout my life.

Being an only child and a Piscean, it was perhaps not surprising that after 12 April much of my life was spent dreaming. At school the other girls could not quite understand why I was infatuated by Shirley Bassey; after all, they spent their time raving over pop idols, many of whom came and went within a matter of weeks. They didn’t seem to realise I was talking about a legend in the making. When they failed to understand, I felt sorry for them for not being able to appreciate the wonderful talent of Miss Bassey, and I just carried on dreaming.

I was considered mature for my years; I think this was because I spent so much of my spare time with my mum and dad. Both my parents were a few years older than most of the other parents, a consequence of my mum having been badly injured towards the latter part of the Second World War. A ‘doodlebug’ (V1 flying bomb), having decided to cut its motor, had glided down to cause terrible devastation not far from my parents’ home. My mum, close to the point of impact, was very badly injured, but she believed she was lucky; others had died. Mum spent nine months in hospital recovering, only to be told when she was finally discharged that she must wait at least two years before trying for a baby. Naturally, when I finally came along, my parents were over the moon and couldn’t contain their joy. I remained an only child and maybe some would say a little spoilt. My parents certainly couldn’t have loved me more but being loved does not mean you are spoilt. Mum and Dad had started with little, as did many of that generation, working hard to give me the best they could in life, yet more importantly teaching me to respect and recognise life’s many treasures in all their shapes and forms. I was a very lucky child.

So, back to Easter 1963… I sat at home looking through the first pages of my Shirley Bassey scrapbook, which I had started to compile a few months previously. It contained a few pictures, reviews and advertising material from the concert we had just seen and now I was copying, in my own handwriting, the notes written by Kenneth Hume that appeared on the sleeve of Shirley Bassey with Nelson Riddle and His Orchestra. You may remember I did not have a record player, but nevertheless I had purchased Shirley’s LP, partly in preparation for the day when I would have one and partly because I wanted Shirley’s record to climb the charts, thus adding to her success. As I wrote out the notes in my best handwriting, still dreaming of Friday’s concert, it suddenly occurred to me what I should do next. I would write a letter to Shirley and tell her how much we’d all enjoyed her concert. Why hadn’t I thought of it sooner!

I started to draft my letter, choosing the words as best I could to express how much we had enjoyed her singing and wishing her well for the future. I read its contents out loud to my parents who, although encouraging, probably wondered whether my letter would actually get within range of Miss Bassey’s voice, let alone be read by her. I, however, had no doubts and the next day went out and bought some lovely writing paper and envelopes onto which I would copy my letter and post it to her, c/o William Victor Productions, Suite 5, 190 Piccadilly, London W1.

Then I was off to the post office to purchase a stamp and, feeling rather proud, I handed over my letter for posting. The postmaster gave me a little smile as he read the name, Miss Shirley Bassey, and I imagine he also wondered whether the lady would read my words.

The days following Easter were very busy for me. On holiday from school for some of that time, I would try to look through the music magazines, New Musical Express (NME) and Melody Maker, as they lay displayed on the counter of the local newsagents. This was quite a difficult task in the 1960s; today it can be achieved more easily, and indeed it seems to be the norm to read half a paper or magazine before purchasing it. However, it didn’t take long for the newsagent I regularly called on to understand my needs. He knew if anything featured those three magic words, ‘Miss Shirley Bassey’, he was on to a winner. As time went by, if I hadn’t been to his shop he would actually save me any newspaper or magazine that carried an article about Shirley.

Fortunately, I now had a Saturday job helping out at a local chemist’s, which I enjoyed very much. It provided me with a little pocket money, some of which I offered to Mum, but I think she felt I was getting so little for one day’s work and so said I should keep it all. She also knew I was starting to save some money for what I called my ‘entertainment fund’ and I think she was fairly happy to see my money go in this direction. At the end of the day, I needed money to telephone agents, theatres, television companies and record label Columbia if I were to keep up to date with Miss Bassey’s performance schedule. These were not the days of the Internet, iPhone and Facebook; to gather my information I needed two 1960s communication tools: the ability to write letters and a telephone. I enjoyed writing letters, so once I had invested in some decent stationery, which I had already done to write to Shirley about the concert, I was ready to begin. First, however, I needed to collect and compile the information I required for the months ahead, and that meant I needed a phone. A private telephone was a relative luxury for a working-class family back then. My aunt had a telephone, as did one or two of the neighbours down our street, but these were only available to me in an emergency. Now, I may have thought booking concert tickets should be classed as an emergency, but I don’t think the neighbours would have seen it like that!

So my only option was the good old-fashioned red telephone box, which always smelled of stale tobacco and fish and chips. The secret was, once inside, to press your foot against the glass door sufficiently to allow in some fresh air while making sure you did not let the outside sounds block your ability to hear the person you were talking to on the other end of the line. This required a good deal of left-foot control, something I mastered over the years. Of course, before you could even attempt to do this, you had to be inside the telephone box and this often required a great deal of patience, especially on cold wet days when the person waiting ahead of you in the queue probably wanted to phone his girlfriend.

Eventually my time would come, and with a small notebook and pen placed on the top of the coin box and a plentiful supply of coins, I would lift the receiver, place the coins in the box and dial the number. When you heard the sound of a voice speaking through the earpiece, immediately followed by a series of bleeps, it was time for fast action. Press button A and with luck you were connected. Then you had to state your enquiry, which often meant holding on and inserting more coins into the black box, whilst the person with whom you wished to speak was connected to your phone line. Thankfully, I usually spoke to someone who could give me some information concerning Miss Bassey’s engagements; remember, we were living in an age where the level of security was far lower than today. What a joy it was when I was given news of a concert date or a television performance. I would run home excitedly to tell my parents in the hope we might attend.

My bedroom took on the new look of an organised office, with drawers in the dressing table converted to accommodate stationery, notebooks and my scrapbook with its grey and fawn pages. I had covered it in white paper, to which I added a colour photo of Shirley and the words ‘The Fabulous Shirley Bassey’. I also had a diary into which I noted any information regarding Shirley’s professional engagements, and an address book for retaining useful contact details. Over the coming weeks these two items became very important in my quest to obtain information. To be sure of getting good seats at concerts it was essential to apply for tickets early, preferably before any official announcement was made in the music press. Therefore the more information you had the more likely it was that you could get the best tickets for concert performances.

There wasn’t so much block booking by agents then, nor were ticket touts as operational as we know them today. The sixties saw fair play – simply be at the front of the queue or be first to apply meant you could be sure of good seats.

My dad was also collecting information, and being the methodical person he was, he was spending some of his time after Easter researching the latest record players. The postman would arrive at the house with letters addressed to Mr R. F. Pilgrim, all of which contained specifications on the various makes and models. Finally, with my dad’s shortlist, we travelled to Romford to visit Wells Music Centre, the town’s leading musical store. Inside the store, the salesman, keen to demonstrate the quality of his selection of record players, produced a test LP which contained a variety of recordings, most of which were orchestral or classical. He played several tracks, to our satisfaction, but was rather taken aback when I pulled out Shirley’s latest LP, Let’s Face the Music and Dance, which she had recorded with Nelson Riddle and his Orchestra.

‘Could you please play this,’ I asked. Rather reluctantly he removed his test record and placed my prized possession onto the record deck, mumbling this was not going to be a very good test. Within moments, rather appropriately, ‘There May Be Trouble Ahead’ was resounding from the speakers sending tingles down my spine. Dad played with the treble, bass and volume control knobs which were lined up along the top of the Dynatron record player, adjusting each to what he felt was the right sound. The result was pure magic; Shirley’s voice was wonderfully reproduced and needless to say we were sold. The recording had even impressed the salesman as well as other customers in the store, who by now were wondering what this was all about. After hearing a few tracks, Mum and Dad agreed to place an order and I was ecstatic. We were told we would have to wait a few weeks before our record player could be delivered but I could easily live with that, since I would soon be able to ‘play’ Shirley as often as I liked (within reason as my mum reminded me). So life was pretty wonderful, yet unknown to me, it was about to get even better.

It was the third week in May when my mum called out to me, ‘You have a letter, it looks a bit special.’ It was not often that letters arrived, the envelope neatly typed ‘Miss Mary Pilgrim’, at our home in Chadwell Heath, yet during the past few weeks I had written to several sources for information, so I assumed this letter had come as a result of one such request. I held the small cream envelope in my hand, inspecting it closely before delicately opening the sealed flap to reveal a folded cream note, which I slowly removed. As I started to open the note, words printed in blue at a 45-degree angle jumped out from the page: Shirley Bassey. I screamed out and my mum came running to see what all the excitement was about, as I read aloud:

Dear Mary,

Just a short note to thank you very much for your letter. I am pleased to hear that you enjoyed the show at the London Palladium so much and it was very nice of you to write and tell me so.

With all good wishes,

Sincerely,

Shirley Bassey [hand signed]

I was so delighted. I really hadn’t expected to receive any form of an answer to the letter I had sent, yet here it was in my hand and personally signed by Shirley. Mum too was very excited by my receiving such a nice letter and we found it difficult to contain our joy when Dad arrived home later. ‘What are you so excited about,’ he said as I waved my letter into the air. Later, Dad gave me a special black-leafed photographic album into which I mounted my letter with pride. During the years that followed, several other letters and photographs were added to this album, all of which I still treasure today.

In June, Shirley was scheduled to appear on the leading television show, Sunday Night at the London Palladium. I had applied to ATV Television for tickets, requesting specifically to see Shirley Bassey. Normally tickets would be sent to you for a specific Sunday date a couple of weeks prior to the show, but there was never any indication as to who would be appearing on the show, so it was pot luck who you saw. However, knowing Shirley’s dates meant it was possible to make a specific date request.

On this occasion I received tickets, but a few days prior to the show Shirley was admitted to hospital and as a consequence, had to pull out from the show. Following news items earlier that year, her legions of fans already knew Shirley was expecting a baby later in the year and so we were more concerned about her wellbeing than the thought of not seeing her perform on TV. When I read the news in the paper I immediately went and bought a get-well card. With a letter enclosed, I sent it off to the hospital where Miss Bassey had been admitted. At the beginning of July, I received another letter from Shirley Bassey, thanking me for my letter and apologising for not appearing on Sunday Night at the London Palladium in June. Shirley went on to say she hoped to appear on the TV show once she started working again after the birth of her baby.

I went to the June show, but I have no idea who stepped in for Shirley. What I do remember of the occasion is seeing some of Shirley’s fans who, like me, had tickets and so had come along. We enjoyed ourselves by sharing lots of chat, information and discussing Shirley’s latest records and performances. To my amazement, one girl, named Valerie, if my memory is correct, said to me, ‘I saw you in April and I have a photo of you with Shirley.’ ‘What!’ I replied. I couldn’t believe it. Valerie had taken the photo just as I was asking Shirley for her autograph and so I was completely unaware of its existence. Valerie kindly offered to send me a print; we swapped address details and true to her word the photograph arrived.

As might be expected, it went into my special album and rightfully deserves to be the first photograph featured within these pages, so thanks again Valerie.

Throughout the summer we kept in touch and one day made a decision to spend a day in London, hoping to see where Shirley lived. Valerie, who was a few years older than me, had a car and as my parents had immediately taken to her when we first met, they were happy for me to go. Her cheeky chat could win over anyone, as the day’s events were about to prove. Knowing Shirley had lived in St John’s Wood, this was to be our first place of call, although how we acquired this information I’m not sure. It’s possible the details may have been in the press since Shirley featured in the news regularly, partly because, at the time, her marriage to Kenneth Hume was going through some difficulties; however, he continued to act as her manager.

We really had no intention of intruding when we arrived at Shirley’s ex-townhouse. A couple of photos of the house were taken for the scrapbook but then our mounting excitement got the better of us and Valerie said, ‘I’ll just go and knock and see if they know where Shirley has gone’, or something similar. Before I had time to respond, Val was climbing up the steps to the front door and about to ring the bell. I waited, rather nervously, at the gate as I watched the door open. Val seemed to chat for several minutes before returning looking excited.

‘Shirley’s gone to the Mayfair Hotel,’ she said. ‘However did you find that out?’ I asked, to which Val replied, ‘I told them we were friends of Shirley’s from Cardiff and that Shirley had said if we were ever in London to give her a call.’ ‘How could you say that?’ I replied, but secretively I rather admired her cheekiness.

Back in the car, beaming with excitement, we studied the map and headed off in the direction of Marble Arch before finally locating the famous Mayfair Hotel. Standing outside this impressive establishment I had a bad attack of the butterflies, but we couldn’t give up now. As we went to enter the lobby we noticed a tall gentleman heading in our direction. He politely held open the door as we stepped inside and said, ‘Hello’. This gentleman was the legendary Nat King Cole.

Although apprehensive, we walked confidently to the reception desk where we boldly asked to see Miss Bassey. ‘I am afraid Miss Bassey is no longer staying with us,’ came a reply we did not want to hear. Val’s quick thinking went into action, and she replied, ‘Can you please give us her forwarding address.’ I’m thinking to myself, he is not going to do that. The gentleman at reception remained silent as he concentrated his gaze on us, while Val again swung into verbal action. ‘You see we use to work with Shirley in Cardiff and she said…’ Val, knowing the story had worked once, decided to give it a second chance, and I have to say she told the tale with great conviction. The gentleman walked off into an office while we waited silently, to return a few minutes later.

‘Well,’ said Val, ‘do you have it, we don’t have much time, we have to get back to Cardiff tonight.’ To our amazement a piece of paper, on which was written Shirley’s address, was handed to Val. We thanked the gentleman profusely and hurried out of the hotel. We could hardly control our excitement and it wasn’t hard to convince ourselves that it must be our destiny to see Shirley.

Back to the car and off to the exclusive area of Belgravia where we parked in a square close to the private mews where Shirley was reported to be living. We walked onto the cobbled stones, under the arch-shaped entrance that partly hid the mews from the main road. Peering into doorways, we finally reached the door displaying the number we sought. To the side was a doorbell/entryphone. Now we were disheartened. We had come all this way and faced being stopped from seeing Shirley by someone at the end of an entryphone. Val and I looked at each other, not needing to say a thing, and then we pressed the bell. We waited but nothing appeared to happen, so we pressed it again. Almost immediately, to our astonishment, the door opened and for once Val and I were speechless as we gazed directly into the bright brown eyes of Miss Shirley Bassey. Our initial silence was followed by an overexcited apology for disturbing Shirley. We explained we were very keen fans and only wanted to wish her all the very best with the birth of her baby, which Shirley was expecting in a few months. She asked how we managed to get her address and we briefly described our adventure, explaining we had been very persuasive at the Mayfair Hotel, as we didn’t want to get anyone into trouble. Shirley gave a smile as we said we were sorry for saying we had worked with her in Cardiff. We chatted a little more and promised we would never ‘tell a soul’ where she lived, before saying, ‘Good evening.’

It was fairly late when I arrived home and I have no doubt my parents would have been apprehensive; however, they sat listening intently as I recalled every detail of our adventure and they were delighted by its outcome.

Around about this time, whilst waiting one day for Shirley to arrive for a concert, we met George Webb. Of my parents’ generation, George was a very pleasant man and loyal fan who travelled the length and width of the country to see Shirley in concert. Sometimes George would be accompanied at a concert by his wife and daughter but generally he came alone. He could often be found talking with a group of fans near the backstage area of any theatre where Shirley was appearing, and would willingly share with them any information he had gained regarding Shirley’s engagements. He was known by many of Shirley’s fans and will feature further on in my story. George continued to be one of a group of fans who have remained loyal to Miss Bassey, throughout their lifetime.

Bournemouth in the sixties could be regarded as a typically English seaside town, famous for its beautiful gardens, beaches and entertainment. A number of shows ran throughout the summer months and Sunday concerts would draw the country’s top entertainers to its theatres. We had booked to see Shirley perform at Bournemouth’s Winter Gardens theatre and even though the journey by car was far easier then than it is today, it was still a considerable distance from Essex for ‘a day out’. Yet when it came to seeing Shirley Bassey in concert, Bournemouth became a second home to us and the reason for this was the Winter Gardens theatre. Built in 1937, coincidentally the same year Shirley was born, it started life as an indoor bowling green. After the war, the building was converted to a concert hall and became famous for its brilliant acoustics. With its wide stage and good seating layout, it was a favourite with fans. On one side of the auditorium were wooden doors which opened prior to the show to expose a large bar and café area. The doors were closed during performances and rehearsals. However, it was possible to sit in the café area on the afternoon of a concert and hear Shirley rehearsing for her show, an experience I can only describe as pure magic. There was little need for amplification here and what you heard was pure Bassey.

The café and bar area extended out onto a long terrace, with views of the pristine gardens, making it a favourite place for anyone with a little time on their hands. Musicians, their wives, girlfriends, stagehands, chauffeurs, managers, musical directors, assistants and fans could all be observed, which added to the fun and excitement of the occasion.

My mum and dad became friendly with the wives of some of the ‘gentlemen of the orchestra’, several of whom were seconded from the string section of the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra. These musicians would join the orchestra for the second half of the show, ready for Shirley’s orchestral introduction, and together with the musical director, would often transform the sound of the orchestra. The sound of a great orchestra live onstage is sadly not often heard these days and when it is, it is often spoilt by over-amplification and electronically produced sounds in an attempt to replicate the good old double bass and strings. I am probably biased since I married a double-bass player, but to me the sound of the orchestra at the Winter Gardens always seemed wonderful once the overture started.

On our first visit to the theatre we had fairly good seats in the stalls and were much nearer to the stage than we had been at the London Palladium, and I loved it. The first half of the concert, which consisted of five separate acts, seemed to go on and on, but thankfully in the year ahead a better format became established for the first half of Miss Bassey’s concerts. Tonight, however, the orchestra opened the show followed by three lads singing in harmony, followed by a third act. The anticipation was getting to me; the butterflies were fluttering again as I sat on the edge of my seat. After the intermission, the interval bell sounded, informing the audience that the performance was about to commence. Now the theatre was packed to the brim and you could feel the excitement mounting.

As the lights began to dim, members of the orchestra came onstage to take up their positions, some warming up with a few notes, before the musical director entered to applause. The moment had arrived, the lights dimmed and a introduction medley, featuring some of Shirley’s hits, began. Over the sound system came the announcement, ‘Ladies and gentleman, the Winter Gardens theatre is proud to present the fabulous Miss Shirley Bassey.’ Lights went up, members of the audience (including me) rose to their feet and thunderous applause reverberated around the auditorium. Miss Bassey was onstage and the crowd went wild.

I would be lying if I said I remember every number Shirley sang, because I don’t, but at that time songs such as ‘What Kind of Fool Am I’, ‘Everything’s Coming Up Roses’, ‘What Now My Love’ and ‘As Long As He Needs Me’ regularly featured in her performances. My mum adored the latter Lionel Bart song and would shed a few tears as Shirley sang, ‘If you are lonely then you will know, if someone needs you, your love them so.’ Mum was not alone in her feelings; one of Shirley’s greatest talents was her ability to extract every drop of emotion from a song’s lyrics and it was an essential part of what the audience had come to love. Hearing and watching Shirley perform was like taking a roller-coaster ride to her soul; we suffered the pain and experienced the pleasure and became one. I would watch every gesture, wonder at the power of every note, and inhale the atmosphere. It was an experience like no other and those who were fortunate to be there will know exactly what I mean. Every song received the ‘Bassey treatment’, making it ‘hers’, and in doing so sending the original version into extinction. If you need an example, just think about ‘Big Spender’. Not yet in the act, it was transformed from its origin in ‘Sweet Charity’ and well and truly became Bassey’s.

One number around at the time was a particular favourite of mine since it brought out Shirley’s fun side and was a sort of forerunner to ‘Big Spender’. Entitled ‘Typically English’, the number came from the show Stop The World I Want To Get Off, written by Leslie Bricusse and Anthony Newley. The show enjoyed great success both in the UK and USA, where Sammy Davis Jnr starred. The words to ‘Typically English’ often changed and Shirley had her own adaptation: ‘My mother said I never should play with the young men in the wood. If I did she would say, you’ll end up in the family way’. Shirley would sing the words in a giggly manner, moving sideways onstage as she used her arm to draw a big bump over her body when she came to the words ‘family way’. It always produced a great laugh. Towards the end of the song, after singing about everything ‘Typically English’, Shirley ended with the lyric, ‘And I’ve never been so ruddy bored!’ Much laughter, then cheering broke out from the audience. All too quickly the performance drew towards its climax, often with ‘The Party’s Over’, but the audience was never ready to let it end.

Cheers of ‘More, more…’ would echo around the theatre as the clapping intensified. Shirley may have left the stage but the audience was not prepared to let her leave the theatre. The applause grew even louder when Shirley came back onstage to acknowledge the audience’s response and thank the members of the orchestra, before singing another number. The audience went wild and Shirley took several more standing ovations before the show finally came to an end.

Mum, Dad and I, along with the rest of the audience, left the theatre spellbound. I was overjoyed and went over every moment during our journey home in the car. We had chosen to go to the first performance, mainly because we had a long journey home, but it was also easier to get better seats. When I thought about Shirley going onstage again and giving another performance like the one we had just experienced, I couldn’t comprehend how she could do it, but she always did.

Later that year Shirley gave birth to Samantha, and in the summer of 1964 returned twice, in August, to the Winter Gardens. As soon as I had knowledge of the engagements I applied for tickets and was fortunate enough to receive front-row seats for each concert. The format for both concerts had improved, as far as I was concerned, since the first half on both occasions featured a traditional jazz band.

The first concert, on 9 August, featured Acker Bilk and his Paramount Jazz Band. They had become the first British artists in years to reach the number-one spot in the American hit parade with ‘Stranger On The Shore’. The second concert, on 30 August, featured Kenny Ball and his Jazzmen, who again were respected jazz musicians. Both acts were introduced by a comedian who then returned to the stage at the start of the second half to tell a few jokes prior to introducing Shirley. With an audience hungry for Miss Bassey, the jokes were not very well received.

On both occasions, however, the jazz bands were well received – this was far better than having to sit through five dismal acts. Kenny Ball won the day and I think I can take a little credit for this. Remember the theatre’s lovely café arrangement? Well, during the afternoon of the concert, I had spoken to Kenny Ball in the café and asked if he would be playing ‘Samantha’, the song from High Society, with which Kenny and his Jazzmen had had a hit. He said he hadn’t intended to play the number, but when I told him Shirley’s new baby daughter had been given the name ‘Samantha’ he said he would see what they could do.

That evening Kenny Ball and his Jazzmen received a very warm reception from the Bournemouth audience and towards the end of their act, I called out ‘Samantha’. Kenny looked down at me, nodded and said to the audience, ‘I think you will like this one.’ As he started to sing ‘I love you, Samantha…’ the audience went wild. Kenny gained a few more fans that night.

When Shirley came onstage after the intermission, she looked wonderfully happy. The audience was going wild and I wasn’t the only one to jump to their feet. Shirley too had gained a few more fans of her own recently, thanks to her latest hit ‘I Who Have Nothing’, which had climbed high in the British charts. There I stood almost directly at Shirley’s feet, while she acknowledged the audience, then she looked down directly at me and smiled as if to say, ‘Sit down now, I’m ready to sing.’ Turning to the musical director, Shirley started to give a performance of her life. ‘Just One of Those Things’, ‘Fly Me to the Moon’, ‘Got A Lot of Living To Do’, ‘Johnny One Note’ and ‘All The Things You Are’ were probably included. I sat mesmerised, my senses trying to work overtime to record every detail. Shirley’s voice was incredible, especially now that I could hear its purity. No microphone was required where I sat; I was hearing pure Bassey. In fact I was so close I could even smell her perfume.

As the concert came to a close, the audience in their appreciation produced a thunderous sound by stamping their feet in unison on the theatre’s wooden floorboards. Then I was looking directly into those big brown eyes and shaking hands with the fabulous Miss Shirley Bassey. It’s a concert I will always remember.