CHAPTER XVII
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”]