Rather like Spike Milligan and his wish for the epitaph on his grave to be "I told you I was ill", there are phrases that encapsulate elements of human existence.
Before almost everyone had colour TV, and before almost everyone wanted to own their own house, there was this thing called music hall. Chock full of all sorts of acts, comedy, singing, sword swallowing, dog juggling, all sorts, a mishmash, hence the term 'Variety'. And bloody awful some of these were too according to anecdotage.
Having never experienced music hall, due to the bonus of being born long after it stopped being a thing, my knowledge is slim beyond that picked up from archive material and the documentation of events of the time. However, I have seen, live and in the flesh, actual music hall acts.
A trip organised by Kelvin Flats residents association (I think) took a load of us to that hotbed of entertainment, Barnsley. To the Barnsley Civic in fact, a Grade II listed building and old music hall theatre where we were to witness a pantomime. The Civic has been shut for quite a while in recent time and it has now had a change of use, although it still contains a theatre. The capacity is not what it was back when it was a proper theatre, before it was lobotomised and denuded of internal dimensions - I'm just saying this as I have no idea what it is like having only motorbiked by it in recent years, it may be delightful inside. Once we arrived at the house of fun we saw a version of the story contained in the Ladybird book below.
I have no memory of any of the event other than the proximity of the ceiling to my seat, due to being up in 'the gods', and the gaudiness of the gilded mouldings.
Actually, what I do remember is queuing up (herded up to do so even) afterwards to purchase the above book from the music hall stars whose pictures and signatures appear on the back. I never read the book, I was 9 and beyond 'easy-reading' by some distance, I'm slightly mortified by it even now. I had no idea who these people were other than they had somehow been involved in the performance.
The transience of fame stares out of the back of the book. There are some that will remember Ken Platt and possibly even some that remember Jack Storey, and indeed Ken Platt has a few lines of text in wikipedia. We even know, from obituaries and the wiki, when Mr Platt arrived on earth and departed. But there is little evidence to say Jack Storey existed, other than this book or as a name that is mentioned in relation to other performers.
Being music hall there are of course catchphrases associated with these people.
Jack Storey had a couple of gems - "I told you didn't I?" and "Well yer do, don't yer." They could stand right up there with any washboard reference. I've no idea what he told us, but I'm pretty sure I do, don't I - and that's some sort of paradox, all the parts are true but only with assumption and the availability of cultural knowledge, maybe he deserves more recognition.
Whereas Ken Platt, host of the precursor to Name That Tune, had this belter, "I'll not take me coat off, I'm not stopping." And to be fair, he didn't. Likewise for the rest of us, being mortal an' all.
And that ladies and gentlemen is where we came in.
Curtain lowers.
Listen, there's only 15 minutes spent on this so it's bound to have holes, it took almost as long to do the picture...
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