Pantomimes at old “Drury.” A pantomime mishap. “Spoofing” a Hebe of
the old Gaiety buffet. E. J. Odell’s rebuke. Sitting on a corpse!
Drury Lane memories. Lady Dunlo and the ham and beef shop. I play in
Drury Lane panto from 1912 to 1920. Actors and actresses who have
played in pantomimes. Jimmy Welch and the New Clown. Mr. Arthur
Bourchier as clown in W. S. Gilbert’s “Fairy’s Dilemma.” A Crystal
Palace Pantomime. The Lupinos as children. Covent Garden fancy dress
balls. “Codding” the first prize. Dan Leno as a policeman. Baddeley
Twelfth Cake Festivities.
In 1895, after the death of Sir Augustus Harris, Mr. Slater Dundas, his
partner, took the pantomime which had been so splendid a success at
Drury Lane the year before, to the Theatre Royal, Birmingham, and here
I played the “Grand Vizier” and was also the clown in the harlequinade.
The Birmingham people were delighted with it and one newspaper declared
that “no more successful and brilliant pantomime has been seen in this
city for many a day.”
The year 1898 saw me back at Drury Lane, and here I remained for
several successive seasons. The pantomime of that year was “The Forty
Thieves,” by Arthur Sturgess and Arthur Collins. Dan Leno and Herbert
Campbell were now established favourites and I think I found my
clowning in the harlequinade was appreciated. The pantaloon was Car
Waller, the harlequin Tom Cusden, and the columbine Ruth Jezard. The
pantomime of the following year was “Jack and the Beanstalk,” also
with Dan Leno and Herbert Campbell to provide the fun previous to the
harlequinade. The cast in the latter was the same as in the preceding
season.
In the “Sleeping Beauty and the Beast,” by Jay Hickory Wood and
Arthur Collins (1900-1901), the comic element was strengthened by the
addition of the late Fred Emney, and he with Dan and Herbert made
an unapproachable trio of humorists. They also took the principal
characters in the “Bluebeard” of 1901-02, one of the most successful
pantomimes Mr. Collins ever produced. As a rule the harlequinade
is dismissed by the Press with a very brief reference, but on this
occasion one newspaper thought it worthy of almost an extended notice.
In describing a scene which is supposed to represent a seaside pier,
the critic wrote: “The pantaloon and the clown take possession of a
coffee stall and are greatly troubled by the dishonesty and vagaries
of their customers. Finally a tall, thin and starved-looking vocalist
takes up a position on the pier and begins to warble ‘Queen of my
Heart.’ Nothing will remove this obstinately persevering singer. The
clown and the pantaloon belabour him vigorously with boards, but all in
vain. He is there and there he remains till the fall of the curtain,
still chanting Alfred Cellier’s serenade. Whimsical Walker is a very
funny clown and works hard to keep things moving.” Well, I won’t
contradict this statement.
During the performance of one pantomime--I forget which one--I had a
curious mishap. During my last visit to America I was very ill--it was
the time when I experienced the discomforts of a Seattle hospital--and
on my return to England I was told that the root of the evil lay with
my teeth and that I must have them out. A dentist extracted them
accordingly, but when it came to a question of a new set something
went wrong. The expert paid me numerous visits, swallowed numerous
nips of my whisky, besides money on account, but no false teeth were
forthcoming. Finally he disappeared and I was left minus dentist,
minus teeth. I had to endure much chaffing from my comrades owing to
my transformed facial appearance. I got tired of being called “Old
Gummy” and I was fitted with a set of teeth by another dentist. But
like the majority of false teeth they were always more or less a source
of trouble, and one night in a pantomime “rally” the comic policeman
banged me on the back, my teeth went flying and rolled over the
footlights into the orchestra and hit a fiddler in the eye!
In the old pantomime days of Covent Garden and Drury Lane Theatres life
went merrily enough, both on and off the boards. Drury Lane then really
existed. To-day it would be difficult to fix the exact spot where it
made its way into the Strand. It has been “improved” into an ugly gaunt
street. I suppose the “improvements” were necessary, but personally I
prefer the old, nondescript, out-at-elbows thoroughfare. I’ve had many
unexpected situations thrust upon me in the “Lane.”
Once after a long and tedious rehearsal I went to a hairdresser’s
close to the theatre to get freshened up. I was so dead beat that I
fell asleep in the chair, and when the barber woke me (for payment
of course) I discovered he had treated me to a perfect prison crop!
I was very much annoyed and I owe him for that hair-cut yet. While I
was strolling down the “Lane” into the Strand, feeling as if I’d just
been released from Wormwood Scrubbs, I met, I think, Herbert Campbell,
and we wandered into the “Gaiety” bar, once the happy hunting ground
of the high-collared crutch and toothpick brigade, and also known as
“Prossers’” Avenue. Suddenly he noticed my shorn head and he exclaimed
very audibly: “Hullo, Whimmy, when did they let you out?” “Only this
morning,” said I, quite seriously. He followed this up by enquiring
sympathetically whether I had been treated well. “No,” I rejoined, “the
Governor was a brute; kept me on the treadmill until the last moment.”
The Hebe of the buffet was of the proud and ’aughty variety for which
the “Gaiety” bar was famed. She was all eyes and ears, so we carried
on in the way we had begun until she believed we were two of the most
desperate crooks in London, and when we ordered our drinks she refused
to serve us. We protested, but the mischief was done, and a big man in
livery came up and suggested that the “Gaiety” was not the place for
such as us, but that we’d better try Bow Street police station! We did
not contest the point, but went on to the “Wellington,” opposite the
stage door of the old Gaiety Theatre, and started a fresh topic of
conversation.
One wanted a good deal of command of one’s temper to tackle any of
these wonderful young females should she be listening to the vapid
cackle of some smirking youth, all collar and cuffs, when you asked
her to serve you. You might have been addressing one of the statues
in a suburban tea garden for any notice she took of you. She _might_
condescend to attend to your wants if she thought fit, or she might
not, but instead would make a sign to some other damsel. Anyhow you
had to accept the snub. She was thoroughly mistress of the position.
E. J. Odell it was, I believe, who once launched a sarcastic dart
when treated thusly. He turned to his companion, and in his deep,
distinctive, sustained tones remarked with a sigh of regret: “And I’m
told there were once pretty girls here!” Whether he got his drink the
quicker for this rebuke history doesn’t relate.
Another recollection of the “Lane” was of quite a different character.
I was on speaking terms with an undertaker there and he once invited
me into his shop and brought out a bottle of whisky. I sat myself
down on something covered with black cloth and we hobnobbed together
in friendly fashion. The undertaker was an enthusiastic theatre-goer.
He knew a host of “stars” by sight and had acquaintance with a few of
the lesser lights. We talked theatrical “shop” and I happened to ask
the undertaker if he knew what had become of a certain actor whom I
mentioned by name. “Yes,” said the man composedly, “you’re a-sitting
on him now!” I jumped from the black covered something and hurried
away, leaving my whisky behind me. It was some few minutes before I
recovered from the shock.
The mention of Drury Lane and its surroundings bring back a host of
memories--some of them sad ones. So many old associates, so many old
landmarks have passed away. The “Albion,” with its pleasant suppers and
merry talk, the “Wellington” and its “Gaiety mixture”--a concoction of
whisky cold with a slice of lemon--the invention of Bob Soutar, who
with Meyer Lutz, the clever musical conductor of the “Gaiety,” and
many, many others used to foregather in the narrow saloon bar.
There was more Bohemianism and less glitter and “swank” then than now.
One can hardly imagine to-day a lady of title, the “star” of a Drury
Lane pantomime, sharing sandwiches--and enjoying them too--with the
clown amid a crowd in a ham and beef shop! Yet I’ve had this pleasure
with Lady Dunlo more than once in the celebrated ham and beef shop at
the corner of Bow Street and Russell Street, opposite the “Albion.” But
what sandwiches they were! The best in London. Such white and well-made
bread, such juicy ham and such liberal measure of the latter were to be
found nowhere else. The glory of those sandwiches and that ham and beef
shop has passed away. It is now a potato dealer’s!
Years of pantomime work at Drury Lane followed, without a break in
the harlequinade so far as I was concerned. “Mother Goose,” “Humpty
Dumpty,” “The White Cat,” “Cinderella,” all were highly successful.
Then came a long break and I went back in 1912, when the attraction
was the “Sleeping Beauty,” by the late G. R. Sims and Arthur Collins.
The public highly favoured this old fairy tale, and Mr. Sims and Mr.
Collins collaborated the next two years in variations of the story
under the titles of “The Sleeping Beauty Reawakened,” and “The Sleeping
Beauty Beautified.” Then came “Puss in Boats,” and as the sequels to
the “Sleeping Beauty” had proved to be popular the experiment was tried
with “Puss in Boats,” which in 1916-17 became “Puss in New Boots.” In
“Aladdin” in 1918 two new pantomime writers, Mr. Frederick Anstey and
Mr. Frank Dix, joined Mr. Arthur Collins, and Mr. Dix and Mr. Collins
were responsible for the pantomimes of the “Babes in the Wood” and
“Cinderella” in 1919 and 1920 respectively.
In the pantomimes above mentioned I had a share of the old harlequinade
business, which was preserved, or as much of it as I was allowed to
produce.
From time to time appeared various actors and actresses whose names
are generally associated with branches of the profession other than
pantomime. The names of Lionel Rignold, Sophie Larkin in “Cinderella”
in 1895 (Sophie Larkin was never what one would call a beautiful woman,
and I suppose it was one of life’s little ironies which caused her to
be cast as one of the “Ugly Sisters”); Clara Jecks in “Aladdin,” Walter
Passmore and Emily Spiller in “Cinderella” (1905), George Graves,
George Barrett, Austin Melford, Florence Smithson, Charles Rock, Madge
Titherage, Robert Hale, and last but not least, James Welch, who played
“Prince Patter” in “The White Cat” (1914). It was his only appearance
in pantomime and he could hardly have felt at home. All the same he
gathered a few hints which came in handy in his memorable performance
in “The New Clown.” I might say that I had the privilege of “making him
up” in this part, which he created and made his own.
Jimmy Welch was not the only actor to play clown whom I assisted in
this way. Mr. Arthur Bourchier essayed the character in W. S. Gilbert’s
“Fairy’s Dilemma” and his “make up” was due to me. Mr. Gilbert has
occasionally been represented as being somewhat overbearing and given
to interference. I can only say I did not find him so. Indeed, he was
rather the reverse, and I have in my possession a pin which he gave me
as an appreciation of my humble services. I fancy that in his heart the
author of the Bab ballads had a great liking for pantomimes. Did he not
play harlequin at the Gaiety in the amateur pantomime produced there in
1878?
Others who in the ’nineties were then children, have since become
popular actors, notably Barry and Stanley Lupino. In 1897 I ran a
pantomime at the Crystal Palace in partnership with Mr. George Lupino
and Mrs. Lupino, the parents of Barry and Stanley. We opened on Easter
Monday with “Robinson Crusoe,” and we gave several shows during the
day. The cast was as follows: Mrs. George Lupino, “Robinson”; George
Lupino, “Friday”; Barry Lupino, “the Cat”; and myself, “Mrs. Robinson
Crusoe.” There were also three other artistes. The outlay over the
production was not costly and we did exceedingly well with our five
performances on Easter Monday. But as the week drew nearer its end the
treasury became smaller and smaller. The weather was against us. It was
terribly bitter and we were all laid up with colds. I remember Stanley
and Mark--two quaint little chaps--crying at the wings with cold and
their mother throwing in a few remarks, sometimes of remonstrance and
sometimes consolation. Stanley has no need to cry nowadays. He is a
clever and successful actor. His business is to make people laugh, and
right well he does it.
My recollections of Drury Lane and Covent Garden would not be complete
without some mention of the fancy dress balls which were once so great
a feature of the “Covent Garden” winter seasons. Sir Augustus Harris
enjoyed these revelries thoroughly, but he had an eye to business all
the same. It was only human to seize the opportunity to exploit his
Drury Lane Pantomime Company. Prizes of a princely value were offered,
such as a carriage and pair, for the best and most original dresses,
and Dan Leno, Herbert Campbell and myself were competitors. One or the
other always carried off the first prize, but never landed one! It was,
to use Arthur Roberts’ beautiful word, “spoof.” I remember that Dan
Leno on one occasion personated a policeman, and got into a squabble
with a genuine “copper” outside the theatre and was collared for
obstruction! It was a merry time.
Then there were the Baddeley Cake celebrations on Twelfth Night, got up
by Sir Augustus Harris on a scale little dreamt of by the old actor
who conceived the idea and left money to carry it out. The demeanour
of Sir Augustus Harris on these and other functions of which he was
the prime mover struck me as very characteristic. He was practically
the host, but he never introduced himself into the proceedings in this
capacity, yet was always in evidence. It was as though he was saying,
“Here you are, my friends, I’ve done my best for you. Do what you like
and enjoy yourselves, but don’t take any notice of me”; an attitude
which made the visitors crowd round him all the more.
It is not too much to say that when Sir Augustus Harris died I lost
one of the dearest friends and the best manager I ever had. I cannot
imagine a greater contrast than between his treatment of me and that of
a certain circus proprietor into whose pocket I put many hundreds of
pounds. All circus proprietors, however, are not like this. A former
head--now passed away--of the particular firm I have in my mind was
not. He was a gentleman.
[Illustration: Mr. and Mrs. W. Walker at their home at Peggotty’s Hut,
Gorleston-on-Sea, with their mascot cat “Whimmy”]