Читать книгу Diamonds Are Forever - Shirley Bassey - Mary Long - Страница 9

Let’s just return to 1963 for a moment and I’ll let you know a little more about what it was like for me as a fan. Still at school, I wasn’t particularly academically minded but showed some talent at art and also enjoyed photography. Encouraged by my dad, a keen amateur photographer, who would develop and print his own black-and-white photographs at home, I shared an interest for black-and-white portraiture. Yet there were times when I wanted to add something more to the photograph. Perhaps I was aiming to capture a little of the subject’s soul and I felt this might be possible to achieve through drawing.

It’s perhaps not surprising I chose to start on a portrait of Shirley. I especially liked a photograph taken by a famous photographer, Vivienne, so with her photo as my reference I began using a variety of pencils and chalks with which I had been experimenting and developing styles of shading. This would be my first serious portrait and after some alterations I was very proud of the finished result. Naturally, my parents thought it was very good, so I decided to send the drawing to Shirley to ask if she would be kind enough to sign it and return it in the stamped addressed envelope I had enclosed. Looking back now at my drawing (yes I still have it), it wasn’t that good, but then I was young and had rather a lot of cheek!

After posting the package several weeks went by and I began to wonder if Shirley had seen the drawing; perhaps it had been lost in the post or even worse, what if Shirley didn’t like it! Fortunately my fears soon vanished when the postman delivered a recognisable large envelope. I attempted to open the envelope quickly yet carefully. As I gently pulled the drawing out from the envelope I saw, handwritten to one side, the words, ‘Best Wishes, Mary, Shirley Bassey’ and as if that wasn’t enough, enclosed was a letter. ‘I think you did a very good job and it must have been extremely difficult,’ wrote Shirley. I needed no further encouragement – now I would produce a drawing especially for Shirley.

All I needed was the right photograph from which to work. This was not as easy as it seemed since I wanted to base my drawing on an up-to-date image of Shirley singing. It took several months before I finally found the photo I required and it came to me with help from my dad. He would sometimes set up his camera to take a few photographs of the TV screen whenever Shirley made a television appearance so that I could have some images for my scrapbook. Dad always seemed to get good results, although some experimentation and a tripod were essential to make it possible. I had learned that Shirley was about to make a television ‘special’ for the launch of the new state-of-the-art, 625 line television station, BBC 2. Not only was I longing to view the show, scheduled for April 1964, but Dad promised he would try to get some good images from the television screen. The show went ahead and was a tremendous success, spotlighting Shirley’s exceptional talent. Dad had also produced the goods and I had a lovely photo of Shirley singing.

Most evenings, after dinner, the tablecloth would be removed from the dining table to reveal a heavier protective cloth on which I would place newspaper to protect the cloth from the fine chalk particles that would form as I worked on my drawing. Once I had pencilled in the detail lines, I worked in black-and-white Conté crayons and a range of grey chalks to help give a good tonal range to my larger-than-life drawing. Using what was called a fashion-plate board as my base, I would eventually cover every surface of the board with chalk to achieve the effect I desired. Even when pure white was required, I would still cover the area of white board with the white Conté, which was very hard to apply and could actually burn the paper layer if applied too vigorously.

Mum and Dad were always encouraging, watching, night after night, as the portrait began to emerge. I would draw starting at the top of the head and then gradually work down, not allowing myself to progress further until I was totally happy with the outcome, which meant ‘seeing Shirley’ before my eyes.

Once finished it was necessary to spray the drawing with a fixative to prevent smudging from the chalks. The fixative, which produced a smell not dissimilar to pear-drop sweets, also required time to dry, so this task was carried out in our back garden. There I was waving a large board back and forth, singing ‘’S Wonderful’, much to the amusement of Mum and our neighbours.

Dad said he would make a frame for the drawing, so the following Saturday we went to an art shop in Ilford to purchase the wooden frame we required. The drawing would be mounted under glass, so once the frame was made, Dad arranged to have a sheet of glass cut to the exact size, which we went to collect from a local supplier. It was a long walk home for Dad, grasping a large piece of glass under his arm, but he didn’t complain. That evening we polished the glass free of any marks or dust, and placed it carefully onto the frame. The drawing was then placed onto the glass, followed by hardboard backing which we then secured to the frame. As we lifted our completed work to show to my mum I am sure I saw a few tears in those eyes.

On Sunday Dad drove us to London and there are no prizes for guessing where we were heading. He parked the car near to Shirley’s home and carrying the framed drawing, we walked to the house. I remember being nervous, yet wonderfully happy, but when we first called nobody was home. Mum and Dad reassured me by saying we could return again later, and when we did someone answered the door. If it had been Shirley I would have remembered every detail, but it was not, so I can only tell you that I happily left my gift and a note, knowing that Shirley would receive both soon.

That year, 1964, had started with Shirley appearing at the Odeon Leicester Square, London with guest star Matt Monro and John Barry and his Orchestra. The show presented by Vic Lewis, Shirley’s manager at the time, was a great success and later toured several leading towns in April and early May. Following on from the tour, Shirley was booked to appear at one of London’s finest venues, The Talk of the Town, so life for her was hectic.

Mum, Dad and I had centre front-row seats in the royal circle of the Odeon Theatre for the first performance of what was billed as The Shirley Bassey Show. This vast cinema, built in 1937, dominated one side of Leicester Square and I can remember how impressed I was looking up at its frontage. Before entering the vast building we spent time with George Webb and other fans, catching up on news. Some fans would attend both performances, but seeing two almost identical performances so close together never really appealed to me. Cost also had to be considered. The tickets for that night’s show were £1/5/- each, or £1.25 if you only understand decimal, but in 1964 that was a lot of money. Doors opened at 5.15pm for the 6.30 show, so we had plenty of time to get some refreshments, although I was always too excited to eat before a performance. We purchased a programme which consisted of sixteen pages and featured a happy casual photo of Shirley taken by Vic Lewis, which I particularly liked, before settling into our seats.

John Barry and his Orchestra opened the first half of the concert. My first impression was that John was younger than I had expected and seemed rather serious. I remember thinking he was rather rude since he would constantly use his forefinger to point at a musician, but in time I realised this was just part of his conducting style. Without doubt he was a very versatile musician and with this performance demonstrated his talents as a composer, arranger and conductor. His programme was entertaining and varied, including bossa nova, jazz and several ‘Bond’ arrangements. However, ‘Goldfinger’ had yet to be born. Matt Monro joined the orchestra for the remainder of the first half and gave a polished performance featuring many of his hits, including his latest, ‘I Love The Little Things’, with which he had taken second prize in the Song For Europe Contest.

When the safety curtain rose following the intermission, magic seemed to fill the air as the audience settled into a silence. The orchestra played an introductory overture, lights dimmed and onto the stage stepped Shirley, looking wonderful in what was probably a Douglas Darnell gown. Fans were cheering, pleased to welcome Shirley back onstage after the birth of her daughter Samantha in November 1963 (her elder daughter, Sharon, was born in 1954). I am not sure whether Shirley began her performance with the Gershwin number ‘’S Wonderful’, or whether it featured in the early part of the show, but with her emphasis of the words ‘w-o-n-d-e-r-f-u-l, it’s m-a-r-v-e-l-lo-u-s’, she captivated her audience

Other classics such as ‘Fly Me To The Moon’, ‘No Regrets’ and ‘Just One Of Those Things’ were among the fifteen or so numbers Shirley included in her programme, but for many members of the audience one particular song had to be heard: ‘I Who Have Nothing’. Shirley had recently climbed the hit parade with her 45 rpm single and was currently enjoying the success, so to see and hear her perform this number was a must for any fan. When Shirley sang ‘I’ the audience erupted into spontaneous applause, Shirley acknowledging the audience, continued and gave an emotional performance which sent shivers down my spine. It was one of the highlights of the show and proved to be equally successful during the April/May tour.

On 12 April, one year after our first London Palladium concert, my parents and I marked our first anniversary by attending a concert at the Astoria, Finsbury Park, the London venue for the latest tour. Similar in format and content to the show at the Odeon, Shirley included ‘My Special Dream’ and ‘Gone’, which Columbia Records had released as singles following the success of ‘I Who Have Nothing’. Once again it was ‘I’ that stole the show and Mum was not alone in shedding a few tears. Lots of fans waited at the stage door that evening and we managed to get a brief glimpse as a smiling Shirley got into her car. As we travelled home I kept thinking to myself this cannot get better, I’ve seen the best, but as you will discover in these pages, it always did – and that is Shirley’s magic.

For a fan it was a very busy time with lots of articles and reviews appearing in the music papers and national press. Any spare time I had was spent playing the latest record release. I would go into our front room, place the record on the turntable and either pretend to conduct the orchestra for Shirley as she sang, or I would simply choose to sing along with her, of course including all the hand and arm movements. I became so good at this, before long I found myself doing Shirley impressions at the family parties. At one Christmas party I took it all very seriously, so when an uncle continued to tease me, I ran ‘offstage’ upset and into my aunt’s kitchen.

With the addition of concert programmes and ticket stubs my scrapbook was filling up rapidly, yet I was unaware that I was about to acquire a very special addition to my photo album. It was one morning in late May when I heard my dad calling to the postman, ‘Don’t bend the envelope’, but the corner of the item was already being squeezed through the letterbox. Dad managed to save the envelope from total destruction, much to my relief, since the package was addressed to Miss Mary Pilgrim. When I saw the London postmark I began to get excited, but as I withdrew the Shirley Bassey letterhead from the large envelope my excitement evaporated slowly when I saw the letter had only come from Miss Bassey’s secretary. However, it quickly returned when I started to read the letter and discovered my drawing had been put up in the drawing room. The letter went on to say ‘it must have taken hours to complete and everyone here thinks it is really good’. Then I read the next paragraph, ‘I am enclosing an autographed photograph’ and I literally dived into the envelope.

Out came a beautiful full-length photograph of Shirley, wearing a black velvet Douglas Darnell gown with an orchid embellishment of crystals, standing against a white background. Handwritten in black ink across the photograph were the words:

‘Dear Mary, Many thanks for the Wonderful Sketch, Shirley Bassey.’

My parents were so happy for me and rightly wanted to see my new treasured possession, but I kept holding it close to me; I didn’t want to let go of it just yet. When I finally passed the photograph to them I realised how proud they were of me and I was reminded how lucky I was to have such wonderful parents. Finally, the letter stated, ‘We may see you at The Talk of the Town, I hope you get a chance to go.’

Over the next few days anyone and everyone at school and work, prepared to listen, was subjected to hearing about the signed photograph and letter I had received from Shirley Bassey. I daydreamed about how wonderful it would be to see Miss Bassey at The Talk of the Town and I am sure I probably drove my parents insane with my pleading to attend this famous theatre restaurant. When Shirley had last appeared at this venue she had broken all attendance records, so naturally I wanted to make my dream a reality and in doing so help her break the attendance record yet again. Having parents who were also great fans meant very little persuasion was necessary; Mum and Dad agreed and the following day made a reservation for Shirley’s forthcoming engagement. When I think back now about those days in the sixties I realise money did not come easy to my parents, although we all benefited from Mum working full-time, which meant a little extra money was available for treats, as Mum would call them. Treats just couldn’t get better than the ‘Talk’.

The Talk of the Town, at Hippodrome Corner in central London, opened in September 1958 as a theatre restaurant. Regarded as one of the great night spots of the world, it offered outstanding entertainment value with an inclusive charge of 57/6 (£2.88), providing patrons with a three-course dinner, dancing to two famous orchestras, a spectacular floorshow at 10pm and the star cabaret at 11.30pm. All this made it the ideal venue to celebrate an important occasion such as an anniversary or special birthday with family and friends. Primarily, members of the audience were there to have a good night out. Unlike a concert audience, the cabaret audience was not there solely to see the ‘star’; the dynamics of this audience could be quite different. Sometimes The Talk of the Town only confirmed the star performer a few weeks prior to the engagement date. This meant if a person wished to book to see a specific performer, they could find it difficult to get a good table since several reservations would have already been taken for that date. We were lucky; we had a reservation, so now we needed to prepare for the big night.

Like Shirley, Mum and I both needed a new frock for this special occasion, so we went to a little shop in Ilford which had been recommended to Mum. The shop was rather like Dr Who’s, Tardis; the outside was small and hardly noticeable but once you stepped through the door you were overwhelmed by the quantity of stock held within. The lady who ran the shop greeted us enthusiastically and within minutes of establishing our needs, rushed around the shop gathering up several dresses from the racks. ‘Try this on, it looks so much better on,’ she said, as she caught my disapproving look. I had to like a dress before I would try it on, plus I preferred something a little more classic than the ones she was holding up.

Soon she began to understand the style I liked and produced a lovely pale blue dress, which had six diamond buttons down the front. I fell in love with it immediately and when I tried it on, it fitted perfectly. Mum had spotted something for herself which was not dissimilar: her dress had several jewelled stones around the neck and partly down the front and was light beige in colour. When Mum tried on the dress and walked out from the changing room, I thought she looked beautiful. I had never seen Mum in anything quite like this before, although she had always looked lovely in everything she wore. Mum loved my dress too, so we were both very happy as we left the shop to travel home and show Dad our new party frocks. When we arrived home it didn’t take long for Mum and I to hold our own little fashion parade especially for Dad. One look at his face, as we twirled around the dining room, told us all we needed to know – he would be proud to take us to the ball!

Dad too, had a surprise for us: he had arranged car hire for our evening out. Today when we consider car hire we simply think of just that, hiring a car. Yet back in the sixties car hire incorporated not just the car but also a chauffeur, who would be immaculately dressed in a dark suit and tie, black gloves and peak cap. Dad, knowing Mr Tricker who operated his own car-hire business, appropriately named Ace Car Hire, had hired him to take and collect us from The Talk of the Town on the appointed evening. This very likeable and reliable man was just what we required since it would be around 1am before we would be ready to leave the theatre and head home.

At school my friends, who were often bored by my talk of Shirley Bassey, were happy to hear of the preparations for our special night out. None had been to The Talk of the Town, although many were aware of its existence and its importance in the world of entertainment. As with all teenagers, even today, a few classmates were a little envious.

It was Saturday and our big day had finally arrived. I had found it almost impossible to contain my excitement throughout the week following Shirley’s opening night the previous Monday, which received rave reviews in the national press. At 6.30pm Mr Tricker’s shining limousine pulled up outside our house. It goes without saying, we were all dressed up and ready and I can remember feeling rather special as I climbed into the car. Turning to look out of the window, I saw our next-door neighbours; they had come out to wish us an enjoyable evening and remained there, waving furiously, until the car pulled away down the street and finally drove out of sight. The drive into London took about forty-five minutes, plus a few more for Mr Tricker to manoeuvre his limousine outside the front entrance to The Talk of the Town. Displayed in the windows at either side of the entrance were large black-and-white photographs of Shirley Bassey.

Suddenly it struck me: this was happening and tonight we were going to witness something very special. The doorman stepped forward and opened the door of our car and I stepped out onto the pavement. As I looked up, my head leaning back as far as it would go, I watched the flashing neon lights spelling out the name of the theatre restaurant. When the doorman lead us into the foyer, I thought I’d entered an Aladdin’s Cave, with the deep red carpet, gold fittings and crystal lights. We joined the crowd of people making their way up a few steps to the entrance; to the left was a small bar. As our table had been booked for 8pm and we had arrived early, we were directed to the bar. It was lavishly furnished in deep red velvet and gold; I had never experienced anything quite like this. Ladies sipped at their gin and tonics whilst the gentlemen enjoyed a brandy in between puffing on a cigar. We sat and had a drink while gazing around at the other patrons with whom we would share our evening.

As 8pm drew near we left the comfort of the bar and headed towards the small archway leading into the vast restaurant-theatre area. We could not venture further without checking in with the restaurant manager who presided over a large table plan. Dad gave his name and within a few moments a waiter was summoned to show us to our table. I hardly had time to catch my breath as we followed, dodging other patrons and waiters along the way. Eventually we were shown our table, situated approximately halfway between the stage and the rear of the theatre, then ushered into our seats. Ours provided us with a good view of the stage since our row of tables was positioned on a slightly higher level than the ones in front of us. We were also in a central position, which meant Shirley would be directly ahead – maybe she would see me!

I took in a gulp of air and gazed around; the place looked stunning, red, gold and crystal prominent everywhere. Mum and Dad seemed to share my feelings and we were all smiles when the waiter reappeared to take our food and drink order. I was always too excited to remember anything particular about the food, but I do remember we enjoyed the three-course dinner, my favourite always being course number three. The seating area was vast and I believe it had the capacity to seat approximately 1,000 diners. On three sides, tables surrounded a rectangular dance floor which miraculously rose up about one metre to table level at show time. Slightly further back and above us, rather like the royal circle in a theatre, was another area of seating for diners. During dinner we listened to the orchestra and watched as some members of the audience showed off their dancing skills in front of those gathered around.

Actually, The Talk of the Town had two orchestras: one favoured traditional dance band music whilst the other was known for its Latin American style. The two orchestras would seamlessly rota in an ingenious way as they played ‘I Could Have Danced All Night’. One band playing onstage would divide in the middle, the stage moving one half of the seated musicians off to the wings on the left, while the other half were moved into the wings on the right. Simultaneously, the second orchestra, who were seated and playing at the rear of the stage, were moved forward to front of stage. It was a marvellous piece of stage engineering that always fascinated me and I still marvel at it whenever I hear that music today.

‘I Could Have Danced All Night’ played again, but this time the curtain closed to the audience’s applause. It was 10pm and Robert Nesbitt’s Roman Holiday revue was about to commence. With an array of dancers, it also featured four principal performers, one of which was Lynda Baron who a decade or so later gained fame in the BBC comedy series Open All Hours. The revue showcased Rome and its many facets, with lavish stage sets, colourful costumes and wonderful music. It was also extravagant, featuring fountains which occupied most of the stage area and ran continuously for approximately forty minutes. I can recall thinking this is much more exciting than listening to a comic tell a few jokes!

The revue received a good response from the audience and now, with the stage lowered, couples once again took to the dance floor. The atmosphere was beginning to mount as people seemed to be preparing themselves for the next part of the evening. I began to develop my preperformance nerves and wondered how Shirley was feeling; knowing she had to walk out onstage and face an audience not entirely formed of fans made me more apprehensive. Yet, I told myself, Shirley has done this before, cabaret is her forte and she will have them in the palm of her hand after her first number.

Suddenly an announcement was made: ‘Ladies and Gentleman may we remind you there will be no bar service during Miss Bassey’s performance.’ Waiters hurried around, fulfilling every order. The orchestra stopped playing, the curtain fell, the stage rose. Suddenly the audience was quiet, no more clinking of wine glasses, as the lights dimmed, the orchestra started to play and the inimitable Miss Shirley Bassey was announced. There were cheers and loud applause, and I rose to my feet as Shirley walked onstage, looked to her new musical director, Kenny Clayton and went straight into ‘On A Wonderful Day Like Today’. The combined sounds of the orchestra and her voice were wonderful. When Shirley sang the line ‘I will pay the bill’, looking towards the gentlemen sitting at a table next to the stage, paused, gave a giggly laugh, and then sang, ‘tomorrow’, the audience loved it.

The performance continued with a number of Bassey classics, such as ‘I Get A Kick Out Of You’, ‘What Kind Of Fool Am I’ and ‘With These Hands’, all of which confirmed her amazing talent. Then came the dramatic ‘I, Who Have Nothing’. As Shirley ended the number she slowly walked offstage, hugging her dress like a matador, as the trumpeter from the orchestra stood tall and blew out those final, memorable notes. The audience was cheering and shouting for more, the applause continuing until Shirley reappeared, which generated an even greater show of appreciation from the audience.

We were offered a few more wonderful numbers, Shirley using the entire stage area during her singing, adjusting her performance to reach every member of her audience. As a fan I was overwhelmed by Shirley’s performance and for a moment drawn to look at Eartha Kitt, who sat at a table close to the stage. She certainly seemed to be enjoying Shirley’s act, but as a performer herself I wondered if it was possible for Miss Kitt to enjoy the performance, in the same way I was – as a fan!

Fun songs, show songs, dramatic songs, the audience loved them all and as the end of the performance drew near the audience dug deep and produced more applause, with shouts for more, more until finally Shirley returned for a further encore. I just couldn’t remain at our table any longer and rushed down the few steps, along the edge of a row of seats, to find myself calling out ‘more’ as I stood at the edge of the stage. Shirley, having spotted me, came and reached out for my outstretched hand, which I offered together with my thanks for a wonderful evening. With a lovely smile, Shirley thanked me before returning to the microphone for a final number. Making my way back to our table, I was elated.

It took several minutes before any form of normality returned to The Talk of the Town once Shirley finally left the stage. The orchestra eventually returned, playing ‘I Could Have Danced All Night’ as the stage lowered to floor level. Someone from a nearby table came up to me to tell me how pleased they were to see me shake hands with Shirley. I wanted to reply, ‘Not half as pleased as I was,’ but thought better of it, so I simply thanked them. Mum and Dad looked on with their usual pride whilst I continued discussing Shirley’s performance. Unfortunately, the party really was coming to a close and we had to think about leaving. Mr Tricker would soon be waiting for us outside, so Dad paid our bill, we gathered up our programmes, collected our coats and joined the crowd emerging from venue. Soon we spotted Mr Tricker and once inside the car, I don’t think I stopped talking until we arrived home in the early hours of the morning.

Mum, Dad and I had enjoyed a truly wonderful experience that evening, one of the best during our time together and certainly the best I had experienced up until then. Shirley had been fantastic and seemingly very relaxed and happy at The Talk of the Town, which gave us every confidence in believing she would be back one day soon.