Among the various pantomimes, we presented Ken Dodd in 'Robinson Crusoe' at the Theatre Royal, Nottingham. I went back to see Ken after the show; he asked me why he did'nt work for us more often. I replied that I was always trying to get him to work for us, but it was always very hard dealing with his agent, Dave Forrester, who was notoriously difficult to deal with.

Ken said, "Well look, don't bother with Dave Forrester - phone me direct. Here's my telephone number". So I took him at his word, and on several occasions phoned him, always to hear an answer machine message. I knew he was listening in, and was teasing me, because he never returned any of my calls, but always, shortly after, I would have Dave Forrester on the phone on some pretext or other.

On a later occasion when we were discussing using Ken at the Opera House Blackpool, I invited Dave out to lunch. After exchanging pleasantries for an hour, without him mentioning Ken Dodd at all, I finally cracked and said; 'Now, about the deal for Ken Dodd'. He laughed, and said, 'Oh, we don't get to that bit until our next luncheon'.

Over the years I found Ken difficult to read. As far as I knew he had no close friends, played no games and had no hobbies apart from collecting bank notes and hiding them in the most unlikely places. His idea of a good night out seemed to be a bottle of beer,a packet of crisps and a cheese and pickle sandwich in his dressing room after the show. But here was a man, who could better than anyone I knew bring unadulterated joy to theatregoers for hours on end and send them out into the night ( or the early hours of the morning ) thinking the world was a happier place.

Eve Taylor, the agent, had been nagging me for some time to go and see a revue in Las Vegas called 'Bottoms Up'. It had been running very successfully for years, not only in Las Vegas, but also spin-offs, in several other cities in America. It was produced by Breck Wall and Patrick Maes. Having launched 'The Good Old Bad Old Days' and 'Applause, it seemed that this was a good time to follow up Eve's suggestion, so I made my plans.

Leslie Bricusse heard I was going, and asked me if I would like to stop off in Los Angeles and stay with him and his lovely wife Evie, the glamorous film actress Yvonne Romain: I immediately accepted.

Leslie is the most social person on the planet; he seems to know everyone worth knowing throughout the world. In fact, if he were in a plane which had to make a forced landing on the ice in Greenland, I'm sure an Eskimo would appear outside a nearby igloo, and say, 'How are you Leslie, I haven't seen you for ages'. The same would probably apply in Australia, with an Aborigine, (except I don't think he would be coming out of an igloo).

I arrived at Los Angeles airport and was met by Evie who drove me back to their house on San Ysidero Drive, Hollywood; I was not to be disappointed. That evening, they arranged for two guests to come over for dinner which Evie cooked; they were Gregory Peck and his wife. I found Gregory to be a totally charming and unassuming man, very much in the mould of James Stewart, whom I was to work with a few years later.

After a very pleasant dinner, and the Pecks' had left, Leslie informed me that we were going to have a busy day the next day. We were attending to the wedding of Laurence Harvey and Paulene Stone, who was a famous model; tall, very attractive, with long red hair. Laurence's nickname for her was 'Redbird'.

Little did I dream that the resultant offspring from this marriage, was to be a lady, known as Domino, who turned out in her thirties to be a gun-toting bounty hunter. A $60m Hollywood film was made on her life thirty-five years later. She was found dead in her bath shortly before the film was due to open.

The marriage was to be a private ceremony at the home of Harold Robbins, the best selling author. His most successful novel was 'The Carpetbaggers', which was reckoned to be the fourth most read book in history. When it first came out, one critic said: 'it shouldn't be printed between the covers of a book, it should be inscribed on the walls of a public toilet'.

At one stage of his career, he had three novels in the paperback bestseller list, in first, third and sixth spot. Ernest Hemingway once asked him what his literary ambitions were. 'Wealth', he replied. He certainly succeeded there. He sold over 750 million books and he spent the proceeds like water.

At one stage he owned two yachts, one moored in Cannes and the other in Los Angeles, houses in Beverly Hills, Acapulco and the South of France, fourteen cars and an extensive art collection. He indulged excessively in cocaine and one of his favourite pastimes was organising and taking part in orgies. He became, if you like, a parody of one of the characters in his novels. It was said that if he left a note for his milkman, three studios would be bidding for the film rights.

Through his excessive, hedonistic lifestyle he managed to get through all the money and when he died at the age of eighty-one in the late nineties, he was in debt.

HAROLD ROBBINS QUOTE: "Man, I don't give a shit. When I'm gone, they can grill me and throw away the ashes where they please and say what they like".

It was late afternoon when we arrived at his house; we were greeted by him; a diminutive figure with a bald head and a pot belly, dressed in garish clothes. But regardless of his appearance he exuded a magnetism and warmth which was quite overwhelming.

It was a small informal gathering of about twenty people. The Justice of the Peace was present, but no one seemed anxious for the proceedings to commence. We just stood about, chatting and drinking champagne. I got into conversation with an extremely charming, middle-aged man with silver hair who was impeccably dressed.

The small talk went on for about an hour, with Harold Robbins growing increasingly impatient. Eventually, he said, 'For Christ sake - will the two of you get married and then you can all fuck off out of here. I'm holding a party for two hundred people this evening, and it's due to start in about an hour and a half'.

The marriage ceremony was conducted in great haste, and we prepared to leave. Harold's house was large, but I couldn't see how he could get it ready for two hundred people, so I said to him as we were leaving: 'How are you going to get it ready in the next hour?' He replied, 'it's not in here - it's outside in the garden. Would you like to have quick look before you go?'

He took me outside, and there laid out beautifully, were dozens of tables covered in the finest linen, decorated with flowers with glittering silver and shimmering glass wear. Up above in the clear dark sky the stars were winking. 'What happens if it rains?' I asked. 'You're in a tent', came the reply. I looked closer, and sure enough, I was. It must have been the biggest tent I'd ever seen in my life, with hundreds of artificial stars winking away at the roof. But that of course, was Robbins' style. Everything - much larger than life.

Laurence asked Evie, Leslie and me back to his house which was on the side of a hill overlooking Los Angeles. The five of us sat on his terrace under the stars sipping champagne, gazing down at the lights of Los Angeles, swapping stories and telling jokes.

Eventually, I asked Laurence who the charming, silver haired man was to whom I had been talking. Laurence replied, 'He's certainly very charming. He also happens to be the head of the Mafioso in California, so if he likes you, and you want anyone rubbed out - he's your man - for a price of course'. 

The next day was New Years Eve, and Leslie as usual had come up trumps. We were going to the party that was probably the one that most men dream of. It was to be held in the home of Hugh Hefner, the 'Playboy' publisher.

We arrived in Leslie's car, manoeuvred our way through a massive security check at the main gates, swept up the drive and the car was taken from us to be parked. We strolled into the entrance hall of the huge baronial mansion, and then something extraordinary happened. Usually, if you are at a large gathering and an attractive lady enters, most of the men turn and look; here we had the reverse.

There must have been about thirty men, and one hundred of the most stunning girls you could imagine. When I walked in, all the girls looked at Leslie and me. I thought to myself, this looks like a promising evening, and it certainly was.

The champagne flowed like water, and the few lucky men were all surrounded by attractive girls, (I'm not sure Evie was too happy about it). Whilst all this was going on, ignoring it all, wearing a dressing gown and smoking a pipe, was Hugh Hefner, sitting quietly in a corner, playing chess.

Two of the young ladies attached themselves to me, (not literally), and we spent the next few hours wandering around Hugh Hefner's 'Xanadu'. We looked over his private zoo, then one of the girls said, 'Let's go to the swimming pool', which was unlike anything I had ever seen.

Leading off the pool were various grottos, depicting different parts of the world. There was the Hawaiian beach, an African jungle lagoon, a waterfall, etc. We were provided with swimming costumes and changing facilities, so we were able to cavort in the various places. This, together with dinner, occupied about three hours; then Leslie came to find us, to tell me that he and Evie had decided to call it a night, but as I was enjoying myself so much, he and Evie would get a lift and I could have his car, and drive myself home when I was ready.

After Leslie and Evie departed, the two girls suggested our next port of call should be the games room. It was a very large bungalow built in the grounds. The first thing you saw as you entered was this enormous room, containing virtually every game which existed at the time - pin tables, slot machines, table tennis, ten pin bowling, pool tables, disco lighting, sound etc. Off the main room were various other doorways. 'What's through there?' I asked. 'Oh, those are all bedrooms, in case the guests want to play any other games', the girls replied.

We didn't avail ourselves of these facilities, and we moved back to the main party. Several drinks later, and rather the worse for wear, I said to the girls it was time I was leaving, and would the girls like to come back with me. Perhaps, we could avail ourselves of the Bricusse facilities. 'Fine', they said. There was however, a problem. Although I knew the address, I hadn't the remotest idea of how to get there. Fortunately, the girls knew where it was, so I followed them in my car.

We pulled up in the driveway of the house and fell out of the cars. I put the key in the front door lock, thinking, aren't I the luckiest fellow - me and two very attractive girls about to celebrate New Year's morning. I tried to turn the key in the lock, but nothing happened, I tried again - still nothing. After struggling with the lock for about fifteen minutes, knowing I couldn't very well ring the bell to wake Evie and Leslie, to ask them if they minded me having the two girls for the rest of the night, I finally said to the girls, that regretfully, it was not to be, and that they had better leave me and go home.

They drove off and I thought I'd have a final go with the key; Lo and Behold, it worked first time. My fuzzled brain couldn't grasp this miracle, but when I awoke next morning, I realised Evie must have heard us arriving, and had dropped the catch on the door, so we couldn't get in; as soon as the girls had gone, she released it. When I saw Evie later, I said, 'I had a little trouble with the key last night - I hope I didn't disturb you'.  'No', she said sweetly. 'I didn't hear a thing'.  I must remember to ask her about that night, sometime.

It was time to move on to Las Vegas; Leslie asked me who I was going to see there and I told him, among others, Sammy Davis.  Leslie decided this was a great idea, and said that he would join me there. He organised a party of about ten people, and persuaded the head of Faberge, to fly them all down in his private jet. I went on ahead, and booked into the accommodation which Leslie had arranged for me at a special rate at Caesar's Palace; the sitting room was about the size of a tennis court.

In those days, the famous Las Vegas strip was just a road through the desert, with hotels dotted along the way on each side. It was hotel - desert - hotel - desert, and so on, with just desert behind each hotel.

Most hotels had an enormous theatre/restaurant, so whilst dining, you were entertained by either big stars, or enormous spectacular shows. In creating the spectaculars, the designer and creator were told to forget about the size of the stage, and just get on with it. If the show was too large, they merely knocked a hole in the back wall, and extended the stage into the desert.

Then, as now, expense was no object; they hired the finest creative people in the world. One of these was Sean Kenny, the designer, and definitely the most imaginative. Sean decided that since expense was no object, he was going to use modern technology to create something that had never been attempted before. He was going to use repelling electro-magnets, to create a series of floating, movable stages.

After months of trial and error and enormous expense, the prototype was ready. Over several days it was carefully constructed in the stage area of the restaurant; everything was prepared under normal performance conditions. The great moment arrived - the switch was thrown. Knives, forks, spoons and every piece of loose metal in the restaurant hurtled towards, and adhered to the stage, drawn by the enormous electro- magnets. Back to the drawing board.

Leslie and his party, including Laurence Harvey and his new bride, Paulene arrived by the Fabergé jet and we all sat at the centre front table and were hugely entertained by Sammy Davis in top form, (but then he was always in top form). Sammy performed for about an hour and a half; included in his act was a tribute to Bricusse and Newley. And then, as it was the first show of the evening, he invited us to have dinner with him backstage between the shows.

Sammy sat me next to him, because he wanted to chat about the shows we had been involved in back in London. The Fabergé party were flying back to Los Angeles that evening. When Sammy found out I was staying on, he asked me what I was doing later on. I told him I was going to see a second show elsewhere. 'Don't do that', he said, 'come and see my second show'. 'But I've already seen your show', I replied. 'Don't worry about that - I'll do something different for you', he said. Naturally, I stayed for the second show.

He performed nearly two hours of material and only repeated two numbers from the first show. Apart from the brilliance of his performance, there was a technical aspect of his act which intrigued me.

He had twenty-two musicians onstage with him, and in order to accompany him on all the numbers he performed, (bearing in mind he chopped and changed and did requests), they must have had at least sixty pieces of music to chose from, which were either on their music stands, (called pads), or on the floor beside them. There was never any hiatus in his act - it just flowed freely.

How did each and every one of his musicians, manage to locate the next song he was going to perform, and shuffle it round so that it was on top of the pad? Half way through his act, I started to wonder, and tried to work out how they did it. I couldn't find the answer and I have puzzled over it for many years.

I believe that the answer was, that in all his ad libs and jokes, there were codes, which indicated what he was going to do next. The musical director was able to pick these up, and in turn, pass them on to the musicians, who were then able, to surreptitiously locate the next piece from the pile. Even then, it was quite a feat, and one which I have always remembered and admired - almost as much as the three hours of unadulterated pleasure he gave me that evening.

After the second show, the indefatigable Sammy asked me back to a party which went on until four in the morning. Sammy Davis! What stamina - what a man - what all-round talent. In my opinion, by far the greatest entertainer, ever.  Incidentally, I spent most of the time at the party trying to chat up a singer from the show - but without success.

The Sands - Las Vegas
left to right - Paulene Stone, Laurence Harvey,
Evie and Leslie Bricusse, me and the Fabergé party

Las Vegas in 1973 with its one major road, (The Strip), bore absolutely no resemblance to what exists today. Today in Las Vegas, which is the fastest growing community in America, every square inch of The Strip is filled with hotels and shops etc. Also, for miles around nearly all the land behind is fully occupied. You have to drive quite a long way before you come to the desert.

In 1973, you could drive from one end of The Strip to the other in about five minutes. Today, the traffic is so dense, that at certain times of the day, it can take three quarters of an hour. In my opinion, Las Vegas is the eighth wonder of the world - and it is still growing.

Meanwhile back in London, we had been planning the unveiling of the New London Theatre. This opened on 11th January with 'The Unknown Soldier and His Wife'. Peter Ustinov played the lead, and he also wrote and directed it. It was a minimal success, only running for a limited period, and was eventually replaced by 'Grease' starring Richard Gere.

I had seen 'Grease' in New York, and although I was entertained, I didn't think it would work in this country. However, we needed an attraction and when Paul Elliott and Duncan C. Wheldon wanted to do it, we rented them the theatre. At the time, I was right about it not being a big success in the theatre, but little did I dream, what an enormous success it would be as a film, starring John Travel.

I went to see 'Gypsy' at the Piccadilly theatre, and was totally knocked out by the performance which Angela Lansbury gave, as Rose. It literally made the short hairs stand up on the back of my neck.

What a career - Angela Lansbury - born in 1925, she studied at the Webber Douglas school of acting and then moved to America. Her first film role was in 'Gaslight' in 1944 with Charles Boyer and Ingrid Bergman. She won four Tony awards for 'Mame', 'Dear World', 'Sweeney Todd' and 'Gypsy', plus dozens and dozens of other awards, and she is still going strong.

Also in the cast playing Baby June, was the girl who escaped being shoved up the horse's arse in 'Gone With the Wind' - Bonnie Langford. A magnificent performance - so good, that Angela took her back to America to appear with her there on tour and on Broadway.

Went to New York to see the show we were co-presenting with Alex Cohen, '6 Rms Riv Vu' . Alex had fixed me up at the Algonquin hotel and sent his limousine to pick me up at the airport. He also arranged tickets for several shows that I needed to see. As I was on my own, I asked him if he could provide some company for me. He said, 'Let me think about it and I'll get back to you'.

He phoned up an hour later, and said, 'I've got just the person for you. She is a well-known performer in TV and films; her name is Louise Sorell. She's married to Ken Howard, who is at the moment playing the lead in 'See Saw' on Broadway, so she's free in the evenings'.

Louise accompanied me to various shows and we got on very well together. Playing at that time in New York was the film, 'Deep Throat'which out of curiosity I felt I ought to see. I asked Louise if she shared the same curiosity; she did, so we went to see it together. We sat through about half of it and then found we couldn't swallow, (oops!), any more, and left. Ken, her husband, didn't seem to object, but I believe they were divorced a couple of years later.

Bill Kenwright, who had produced and directed 'West Side Story', which had opened at the Collegiate theatre on 3rd July, asked me to go and see it with a view to transferring it to the Prince of Wales theatre.

It was a good production, and I felt that there might be a possibility for it to replace 'The Good Old Bad Old Days. At that time, I wasn't sure when the theatre would be available, so we kept the discussions going, but in the meantime, we decided to launch a new show starring Danny La Rue later on in the year. I explained this to Bill, and he said he quite understood and took it in very good part. He later opened 'West Side Story' at the Shaftesbury on 19th December 1974.

Bill Kenwright over subsequent years has been responsible for many productions in the West End. In fact, I would venture that there was a certain period in the West End theatre, where if it hadn't been for the efforts of Bill Kenwright, Cameron Mackintosh, Andrew Lloyd-Webber, and transfers from the subsided theatres, the whole West End edifice might have crumbled; it certainly would have tottered. They, and almost they alone, with their productions saw the theatres through some very difficult times.

It wasn't always easy for Bill. He told me that on many occasions he had to hock all his office furniture in order to meet wage bills; but it was always back in position the following week. Even in those days, if Bill had a choice of attending one of his shows' previews or watching his beloved Everton Football Club, there was no choice. It was always Everton. He has been the backbone of the football club over the years, through thick and thin; his tenacity paid off, and they finished fourth in the premiership in 2006.

Freddie Starr was now a top drawing entertainer and we presented him at the North Pier Blackpool for the Summer Season. Prior to the start of this show, Freddie had asked to see me in my office. My curiosity having got the better of me, I arranged the meeting.

He came straight to the point. 'I think I am being screwed by my agents, Mike Hughes and Evie Taylor'. 'Absolutely no way, Freddie', I said. 'They are both extremely honourable people'. 'Well, I don't believe you', he said. 'Can I look at my contract they have signed on my behalf?' 'Well, what did they say you were getting?' I asked. Freddie answered, '£1,250 per week and a percentage'. 'Well, if that's what they told you, that's what you are getting'. 'I still want to see the contract', said Freddie.

I called my secretary on the intercom and asked her to bring it in. She handed it to me, and standing up, I made sure I was more than an arm's length from Freddie; (knowing how unpredictable he could be), I thought he might snatch it out of my hand and tear it up). I held the contract up to show him the figures. He looked at it, gave a little lunge forward, and I jumped back. Then he laughed. 'Only joking', he said with his wicked smile.

Earlier in the year, I had received a phone call from an agitated Dave Forrester who was Mike Yarwood's agent. He asked if he could come and see me that afternoon. I agreed, and as soon as he sat down opposite me he said, 'Do you want Mike Yarwood for the ABC Blackpool?' I thought, What's this? We normally don't get to this stage until the second lunch. I asked him what salary he wanted, and he said, 'The usual that you pay for your stars'. 'What, no negotiation?' I asked. 'No, the usual will be fine'. 'No other demands, no special billing, no billing by arrangement with Dave Forrester?' 'No, no, everything's fine. Just prepare the contract and I'll sign it'.

I dictated to my secretary on the spot; she typed it out and Dave signed it. He left the office clutching my copy, with me wondering what on earth was going on. I discovered shortly afterwards, that his agreement to represent Mike Yarwood was about to terminate, and Mike was leaving him, to go with Derek Block, so Dave wanted to make sure Mike was committed to this contract and Dave's commission before he left.

Received a phone call in July from Charles Lowe, saying that Carol was on tour in America appearing in a musical called 'Lorelei' and asked if I would be interested in doing it in London. 'Very interested', I replied. 'Where is the show at the moment?' 'We're in Chicago'. I flew out the next day.

The journey from the airport to my hotel in Chicago took me through one of the most deprived city areas I have ever seen - burnt out cars, run-down tenement blocks, some with windows smashed, some boarded up, graffiti everywhere, non--descript groups of  people wandering about. It made me feel as if I was in a violent third world country. I was thinking to myself, I hope we don't break down here when the cab driver said, 'I'm just going to pull in here for some petrol'. I sat in the back seat nervously looking about me, waiting to be mugged.

Fortunately I wasn't, and we drove off and finally arrived at the hotel where Charles and Carol were staying; a room for me had been booked. I met with Charles at lunchtime, and said, 'I'd like to see the two shows, matinee and evening, then we could discuss the project.

After the shows, in which Carol was electrifying, Charles and Carol took me out to dinner, and when she made her entrance in the restaurant, the diners applauded. Carol ordered the usual clean plate and empty glass, and then switched her special brand of electricity on for me. She gave me about ten minutes, then Charles switched her off, and we started to talk about the show.

I told them I had thoroughly enjoyed it, and thought it would work well in London. 'How much time can Carol give us over there?' I asked. Charles replied, 'Six months at the outside, including rehearsal time'. 'Let me go away and work on the figures', I said. I sat up all night doing calculations, and came to the conclusion, that we would be lucky to break even in six months.

I had a breakfast meeting next morning with Charles, went through the figures and asked him if he could stretch the commitment to nine months. He said, 'unfortunately, not. Carol has no gaps in her diary longer than six months'. He was very understanding when I told him that this wouldn't be a financial viable proposition. I then got on the next plane, and flew back to London.

I always received Christmas cards from Carol and Charles, which were sent well into the nineties; then they stopped. I later found out the reason, which staggered me.

In 1997, Carol sued for divorce after forty-one years of marriage. According to the divorce papers, Carol said they only had sexual relations once or twice during their forty-one year marriage, and that was forty-one years ago. Charles reportedly told Channing he was impotent.

But regardless, Carol said, not once during the course of their forty-one year old marriage, had she had an affair, or been intimate with anyone else. She asked the court to freeze her assets, (you can put your own joke in here), since Charles was spending her money like a drunken sailor.

She also claimed that he physically assaulted her and humiliated her in public, throughout their forty-one years of marriage. It was also reported, that she implied that Charles had a long running homosexual relationship with a photographer.

Charles refuted all the allegations. Well - he would wouldn't he. He died in August 1999 before the divorce was finalised. I was extremely sad to hear this about Carol and Charles, to whom I had become rather close, and who seemed to be so fond of each other. It just goes to show - you never know what goes on behind closed doors. On 10th May 2003, Carol married Harry Kullijian, a childhood sweetheart.

CAROL CHANNING QUOTE: "The First 80 Years Are the Hardest."

Manny Azenberg, the producer of most of the Neil Simon plays, asked if I would be interested in presenting 'The Sunshine Boys' in London, which was currently a big hit on Broadway.

I flew to New York, had a meeting with Manny and said yes, I would be interested, but only if I could get the right people to appear in it. I had the idea of bringing Jewel and Warriss together again. They had been the top double act in the country in the forties and fifties; the 'Morecambe and Wise' of their day. But they had long since split up. I thought it would be a great coup to bring them back together again.

I first of all spoke to Jimmy Jewel, who was ecstatic about the idea; Ben Warriss didn't want to know. No matter how much Jimmy and I tried to persuade him, he refused. So reluctantly, I decided to drop the idea. Jimmy was most unhappy about this and asked if he could pursue it with Manny Azenberg, on his own. 'Be my guest', I said.

Jimmy being extremely tenacious, finally got it together with Alfred Marks. The show was finally produced at the Piccadilly theatre in May 1975. Once again - critically acclaimed, but only moderately successful.

Frank Hauser invited me to see his production of 'The Wolf' at Oxford, starring Edward Woodward, Judi Dench and Leo McKern, with a view to transferring to the West End. I snapped it up, and we opened at the Apollo on 23rd October. There was quite a hassle about getting the billing right, but eventually it was resolved, with Edward Woodward and Judi Dench being top of the bill, and Leo McKern centred immediately below them, preceded by the word 'and'. It received good notices, but it finished up almost a tour of the West End.

After a few weeks, my old friend Toby Rowlands asked me if I could help him. He had a chance of booking for the theatre a play called 'Why Not Stay For Breakfast', written by Jean Stone and Ray Cooney, presented and directed by Ray Cooney. Toby thought this might be a big success, and he knew that 'The Wolf' would only run for a limited period, since our three stars had relatively short contracts. I acquiesced, and we moved it to the Queen's theatre, where it re-opened on 3rd December.

With this change of theatre, I thought that Judi and her co-stars might be a little unhappy, but there were no complaints. However, the play's travels were not over yet; Toby Rowland came to me yet again, and asked if I could help him.

This time he had the chance of booking a musical called 'Bordello' into the Queen's theatre, which he thought might be successful. Bearing in mind all his friendship and encouragement which he had given me in earlier years, I acquiesced and we moved it to the New London theatre where it opened on 2nd April.

This time, I thought I'm definitely going to get a complaint from the actors, but not a bit of it. It seemed to me that Judi, Edward and Leo were quite happy to play three different theatres. I suppose like me, they thought it was very interesting to do a tour, without leaving the West End.

Bernie had received a phone call from an agent in America, asking if we would be interested in presenting a murder mystery entitled 'Gomes'. It was co-written by David Swift and Sidney Sheldon. Sidney was one of the most successful novel writers in the world; his book 'The Other Side of Midnight' sold millions of copies, and his credentials were very impressive. He started off as a scriptwriter with MGM, preparing synopses. Having done this for some time he decided to write himself, becoming one of the widest read authors in the world.

He was also involved as co-writer on 'Easter Parade', 'Annie Get Your Gun, and created the smash American TV hit, 'I Dream of Jeannie'. He won two Tony Awards in 1959 for Redhead, and had dozens of screen writing credits. In view of his track record, we had a meeting in London and made our plans to proceed.

On the page, it was a very interesting thriller. Richard Pilbrow who lit it for us, described it as a cross between Titus Andronicus and Sleuth. The cast included Roy Dotrice, Aubrey Woods and Rachel Kempson, (Lady Redgrave). The director was Peter Coe. Peter had his misgivings about the convoluted plot, and only agreed to do it on the basis that I, and I alone, was the only one he was prepared to accept notes from, (none from the authors).

There were all sorts of complex special effects, and we spent almost as much time working on these as actually rehearsing the dialogue. After a slightly traumatic rehearsal period, we opened on 20th November at the Queen's theatre. On the first night, Bernie and I sat together a trifle uncomfortably. When the curtain fell, Bernie turned to me and said, 'We'd better get the notice ready to close on Saturday Saturday night'. I agreed, and the next day, so did the critics.

SIDNEY SHELDON QUOTE: "What I do is put my characters into situations that are so precarious there is no way to get out. And then I figure how to get them out."

We were presenting Val Doonican in a Summer Season at the ABC, Great Yarmouth. Usually when I visited Val we would have a game of golf. He would always find the best course within reasonable striking distance and ferry me there in his Rolls Royce. About that time personalised number plates were extremely popular in the profession; Jimmy Tarbuck had 'COMIC', Paul Daniels 'MAGIC' and several stars had their initials with the number 'I' after them; Val decided not to use his initials.

Val always paid my green fee and presented me with three brand new golf balls, which I usually managed to lose before the end of the round. He was a very fine golfer, playing off 4 handicap and always used to beat me. Except for one occasion when I took him to Wentworth, where I was a member playing on the Burma Road off 10, (I later on managed to get down to 7, but as I write this Anno Domini has caught up with me and I am now off 16 and rising). I managed to go round and only drop five shots. For the first time having been well beaten, Val said with a wry smile, 'It's nice playing with an expert'.

Val was right up there with Harry Secombe as being one of the nicest people to work with. Always warm and friendly,never temperamental. The only time he ever put his foot down was when our dear Maurice Fournier ( our chief of production )died. Maurice had always directed Val's shows and when we suggested Dickie Hurran as the director Val said " No way " He was aware that Dickie could be a trifle temperamental and Val just wanted a calm environment.

Getting ready to tee off with Val Doonican and friend

I had always thought that the best of summer season light entertainment would hold up in the West End for a limited period, so I brought 'The Val Doonican Show' into the Prince of Wales. In essence it was exactly the same format as his summer show. It received rave reviews, saying that this was precisely what good variety was all about. It ran from September 27th to November 24th and did wonderful business.

VAL DOONICAN QUOTE: "Listening to Oireachtas Report tonight I thought I heard an Taoiseach say "It took Ireland 30 years to become an overnight success. Surely I misheard."


We had spent some time this year planning 'The Danny La Rue Show' for the Prince of Wales. It opened on 19th December and exceeded all our expectations, selling out and running for 503 performances, until March 1975.

The Danny La Rue show ran extremely successfully during this year. There were a couple of minor blips; once when a lift bearing Danny down from the flies got stuck and all you could see was the bottom third of it, so Danny spent five minutes on his knees with his head just visible under the bottom of the house tabs, doing a comedy routine with David Ellen, who was standing on stage whilst the lift was slowly winched down.

This was the 'Winter of Discontent' when strikes and power cuts were instituted in various sections of the country. The Prince of Wales theatre was only affected on a couple of occasions and in those days we didn't have a stand-by generator, so we positioned someone in a box at each side of the stage with some headlights and car batteries, which were kept focused on Danny. As usual, Danny continued with his performance, as if this was a perfectly normal occurrence. This, together with the emergency lighting, kept the show running.

Me about to be attacked by a man-eating lobster -
Freddie Carpenter and Danny don't seem too bothered

It was during the run of this show, that Danny discussed with me a project he was considering. He had fallen in love with a property called Walton Hall, which was situated near Wellesbourne, in Warwickshire. He told me that this was his dream. He purchased it two years later.

Walton Hall had seventy-five acres, its own church and graveyard, and a magnificent mansion, part of which Danny converted into a Victorian music hall. He initially paid £500,000 for it, and for the next six years, invested everything he earned in it - he even sold his pub, The Swan, in Streetly to help fund the alterations. The renovations simply ate money, and very few people went to stay there.

At the time he told me he was going to buy it, I thought to myself that it appeared to be a bit of a white elephant in the middle of nowhere; why would people stay there? Maybe to see Danny, but Danny would probably be away working; but knowing Danny had made up his mind, there was no point in arguing with him.

Finally, after years of ploughing money into it, it was still not working; the reason being, if it was Danny La Rue's hotel, people who went there, went to see Danny La Rue and he wasn't there - he was away, working for us.

Danny put it up for sale in 1983. He was approached by two Canadians, who wanted to take over the hotel, but they wanted Danny to remain as a figurehead, as a director and a major shareholder. They told Danny they were going to invest millions of pounds in the project, so Danny enthusiastically joined in their scheme.

While he was absent, they moved in, and lived like kings. They flew in and out of the country, and everything they spent, was put down to the hotel. In July 1983, the two Canadians were arrested for an airline and travel ticket fraud in Canada. In the meantime debts had accumulated at the hotel and bailiffs moved in, to seize assets for payment of an outstanding VAT debt. It transpired, that the Canadians had ordered everything, using Danny's name, and of course, technically, since the hotel had never officially changed hands, Danny was responsible for all the debts.

In July 1983, Walton Hall went into liquidation. Danny lost every penny he had ever earned in show business, and he had to sell his antiques and his home in Henley-on-Thames to help pay off the debts.

Following the fiasco of 'Gomes', I did salvage something from it. I persuaded Roy Dotrice to repeat his one man show 'Brief Lives', which had earlier been a great success at the Criterion theatre. We opened at the Mayfair on 15th January. It was directed by Patrick Garland, based on the writings of John Aubrey.

The setting, magnificently designed by Julia Trevelyan Oman, was the study of John Aubrey, and was absolutely crammed with bric-a-brac, furniture and pile upon pile of manuscripts and books all in a glorious state of disarray, most of it covered with a layer of dust, and in some corners, festooned by cobwebs. This was the chaos which John Aubrey was purported to have lived in.

It was quite successful at the Mayfair theatre, cost very little to put on, and made a small profit. It was pleasant to do, and to be associated with Patrick Garland, who had also adapted it.

JOHN AUBREY QUOTE: "Upon the sixth of April, Alexander the Great was born. Upon the same day he conquered Darius, won a great victory at sea, and died the same day."

Our next production was 'Henry IV' by Pirandello. The stars were Rex Harrison and Yvonne Mitchell. It opened on 20th February, and was directed by Clifford Williams.

This was my first opportunity to work with Rex Harrison, although previously I'd had a lunch meeting with Rex and his agent, Dennis Sellinger to discuss the possibility of him doing 'Man and Superman'.

We seemed to be chatting amicably enough, when suddenly Rex said, 'Fuck this - I don't want to do the play after all', and got up, and left. Dennis and I continued with a rather subdued luncheon, and I finished up paying the bill.

Bob Clinton, who was the Company and Stage Manager for 'My Fair Lady' at Drury Lane, told me that he always had a bad time with Rex who was playing Professor Higgins.

Every night before the performance, Bob would go to his dressing room and Rex would give him a list of complaints. These varied, but there was one in particular which always came up; it was about the follow-spot operator. Rex said 'he can't keep up with me - he's usually behind me, but sometimes he's in front of me'.

This went on for weeks until finally one evening, Bob went to Rex's dressing room and before Rex could start, Bob said, 'You've been right all along about this follow-spot operator - he's terrible and I've fired him'. 'I say', said Rex. 'Isn't that a bit extreme?' 'Not at all', said Bob. 'Of course, he hadn't fired him, but he never had another complaint from Rex about the follow-spot again.

I wasn't looking forward with great joy to my next encounter with Rex, playing Henry IV, but contrary to his history of irascibility I found him absolutely charming to work with.

He threw a first night party at his home for the cast, and he spent the entire evening being delightful to me and Patricia, my guest. As the evening wore on and I became increasingly more intoxicated, warming to his good humour, I began to flatter him. When it came time to leave, he came out onto the pavement to see me off. By this time, we were practically hugging each other with love and appreciation. I must have gone well over the top, because after we left, Patricia said to me, 'You were buttering him up so much, I thought you'd got your head stuck up his backside'.

The run was uneventful; his charming wife, the lovely Elizabeth Harris, seemed to know exactly how to deal with him, but then, she'd had plenty of experience having previously been married to Richard Harris. The show was an artistic success; in layman's terms it was well received, but didn't make any money.

REX HARRISON QUOTE: "Exhilaration is that feeling you get just after a great idea hits you, and just before you realize what's wrong with it."

Peter Hall, who had just been appointed to run the National Theatre, asked me if I would have lunch with him. He brought along Peter Stevens, his general administrator, and explained that they didn't just want the National, which was due to open shortly to be a home for the classics - they wanted it to be all things - to all people. Pop concerts on the terraces during the summer; music playing in the foyer - for at least an hour before performances, exhibitions and platform performances; but most of all, he was toying with the idea of populist entertainment to be held in the Olivier or Lyttleton theatres on Sunday evenings, when the plays weren't on.

He asked, in view of my experience with light entertainment, what I thought about the idea, and what type of artists should be engaged. I went through a comprehensive list with him, ranging from rock and roll performers to stand-up comics. I said; 'Whatever you do, put Ken Dodd right at the top of your list'.

He and Peter Stevens made notes of all my suggestions, saying that when the theatres were up and running, he would come back to me to discuss my suggested list further. He never did.

When I joined the Board of the National in 1976, we discussed the idea again, but it proved completely impractical, because of the enormous costs of heat, light and staff to open the vast building purely for a concert in the Olivier. Financially it was not on, and furthermore, we decided we would receive criticism for commercialising the National, by presenting artists who just as easily could be playing other venues which were commercial.

Our next project was 'A Streetcar Named Desire', which we opened at the Piccadilly theatre on 14th March. It starred Claire Bloom as the tragic lady, Blanche Dubois. Martin Shaw, who played the uncouth Stanley, decided he need to build his muscle bulk up for the part and this he managed to do very successfully. I'm not sure how - possibly with a combination of exercise and steroids. Morag Hood played Stella, and Joss Ackland played Harold.

It gave me great pleasure to co-present this at the Piccadilly because it meant that I had to negotiate with Donald Albery the owner of the theatre, who was my boss when I was stoking the boiler at the Wyndhams theatre. He remembered this, and got quite a lot of fun out of it.

Donald had a very strange clause which he always inserted into his theatre contracts with producers, which was: if a show ran for thirteen weeks, you either had to guarantee him a further thirteen weeks, or close the show.

There was always a general clause in all West End theatre contracts, that if you gave notice to close a show at one theatre, you weren't allowed to re-open it within six months at another theatre. I told Donald that I wasn't happy with his thirteen week clause, but I would sign it if, regardless of the business, I could give him notice to finish at the end of thirteen weeks, and immediately transfer to another theatre. He grudgingly accepted this.

It might well have been the first time he had to vary this particular clause, but I believe he was amused to be out-negotiated by his ex-boiler man.

The production evolved through the machinations of our old friend from 'Golden Boy' days, Hilly Elkins, who was married to Claire Bloom. We certainly didn't need any persuading to present this - neither did Claire Bloom to play this great part. The play was a triumphant success, with everyone in the cast performing brilliantly, and receiving the appropriate recognition from the critics, as did the director, Edwin Sherrin.

Although it was a triumph, it didn't have the impact that the production starring Vivian Leigh had back in 1949 when Binkie Beaumont who presented it, announced that Vivian Leigh was going to appear in this enormously successful production from Broadway, and that Laurence Olivier was going to direct it. The box office immediately went crazy, and they were sold out for several months in advance.

In those days the galleries were always unreserved; people used to queue on the day of the performance, usually sitting on little wooden stools which were placed outside the gallery entrance. There were no seats as such in the gallery - merely benches; it was first come, first served.

The Aldwych had approximately two hundred gallery seats and there were four hundred in the queue on the opening night, of which two hundred, were extremely disappointed. Some people had been queuing for more than twenty-four hours.

The show was received rapturously, and most of the critics raved, but there were a handful that castigated the play, calling it crude, lewd and disgusting. This merely had the effect of increasing sales at the box office. Of course, we didn't have this sort of reaction at the Piccadilly - but it was twenty-five years later, and the public's conception of what was acceptable in the theatre, had moved on considerably.

BLANCHE DUBOIS QUOTE: "I have always depended on the kindness of strangers."  

TENNESSEE WILLIAMS QUOTE: "The violets in the mountains have broken the rocks."

Bernie phoned me late in May, and said he assumed I was going to attend the first night of the summer show at the Congress theatre Eastbourne, starring Ronnie Corbett. Prior to that, could I attend a party he was throwing the same day at his country house in Littlehampton? I explained it was rather difficult, but he was insistent. He said, 'I really do want you to be at my party'. What could I say?

I turned up with Patricia, and he announced to the delight of all his friends, that it was a party to celebrate him being knighted. We had a wonderful time, and then we all drove down the coast to Eastbourne to see the Ronnie Corbett show.

Ronnie Corbett, Renee Stephan and me

On the way back to London, Patricia who had a suspect bad back, caused by years of maneuvering patients in and out of beds, and on and off operating tables, went into a spasm, and was in absolute agony. First thing next morning, she was seen by one of the surgeons, who she usually assisted in his operations at her hospital. He told her that the only long term solution was, to have part of her vertebrae fused.

This was an extremely complicated and dangerous operation because they would operating alongside the central nervous system, and the slightest slip, could result in paralysis. Patricia, being an extremely courageous lady, (except as far as Caribbean moths were concerned), decided to go ahead with it.

She was operated on in the same operating theatre that she was in charge of. It was a lengthy healing process, and we had planned to take a two week holiday in the Los Monteros hotel in Marbella, at the end of July. 'Don't worry - I'll be ready in time for it', she said - and she was. We had a splendid suite at the hotel, but unfortunately on the second day, we both caught an acute case of gastro-enteritis, and spent the next ten days taking it in turns to use the toilet. We could eat practically nothing, and to even a drink of water was a problem. At the end of it, we both lost a stone in weight and I was out of pocket by about £3,000. Still, cheaper than going to Grayshott Health Clinic.

The Coventry Spring Show starred Freddie Starr with Paul Melba from 14th March to 17th April. Freddie was now a big star, and on 20% of the box office receipts. At the Coventry theatre there was a hospitality suite, which led onto an isolated box at the side of the theatre, on dress circle level. This was the one I always used, because of the necessity of entertaining people.

On Freddie's first night I was actually on my own, sitting up there in isolated splendour, when suddenly, Freddie stopped in the middle of his act, and said to the follow spot operator: 'Shine that spotlight on that box', pointing to me. He then did a three minute routine, generally taking the mickey, and jokingly blaming me for all the Coventry theatre's misfortunes, by saying, 'If you don't enjoy any of the shows you've seen here - he's the one responsible'. It was wickedly good-natured banter - but extremely embarrassing.

FREDDIE STARR QUOTE: "If you cannot read this, please ask the flight attendant for assistance". 'United Airlines Flight Safety Brochure'.

Among the many Summer Shows we were presenting was a production of 'The Liver Birds', starring Polly James.

Polly was loth to do the show in Blackpool. She thought she'd be lonely there, and wasn't keen on playing twelve shows a week. I dangled the carrot of money in front of her, but she still wavered, saying, 'I might not have too many friends up there that I can talk to'. She made me promise that every Friday afternoon I would phone her and spend an hour on the telephone discussing all the theatre gossip. And also, each time I went up to Blackpool I was to spend at least half a day with her. This usually consisted of us playing two-handed poker in her hotel room.

Polly is a very talented performer, who knows exactly what suits her. We were great friends for a number of years, but then, like so many friendships, we somehow drifted apart.

Our next production was a musical, 'The Good Companions'.  This was based on the novel by J.B. Priestley, book by Ronald Harwood, lyrics by Johnny Mercer and music by Andre Previn. John Mills played Jess Oakroyd, and Judi Dench played Miss Trant. The director was Braham Murray.

When this production was first proposed, I desperately wanted to do it but I explained to Bernie that such was my workload I couldn't give it the due care and attention that it needed. I asked Bermie if he would be agreeable to me approaching Richard Pilbrow, to ask him to join us and help with the production. Bernie was happy to acquiesce, and Richard, as expected, performed admirably.

The show opened on 11th July; it was very pleasant, and received quite good notices; it had a reasonable run, but it didn't make any money. As Patricia was in hospital recovering from her back operation, I didn't have anyone to take to the first night.

My friendly ballet mistress, who had introduced me to many girls in the previous years said, 'Don't worry - I've got a lovely girl you can take'. Her name was Lorna Nathan; a top rate dancer who appeared mainly on television and films. She was divorced, and had an eleven year old daughter, Barbara. It was very difficult for Lorna, working in show business and bringing up a child on her own, but she managed very well. Barbara was training to be a dancer.

A couple of years later, I approached Bernie Delfont, and said, 'Bernie, will you do me yet another favour? 'What's that?' he asked. 'You have a charitable trust, which is never fully committed. Would you pay for Barbara's education at the Arts Educational School, out of the trust?' Bernie was delighted to do so, and Barbara turned out to be a very fine performer.

It gave me great pleasure years later, when Barbara King took over the young leading role in 'Forty Second Street' at Drury Lane. (This was before Catherine Zeta-Jones played the part). I arranged with Louis Benjamin that I had the royal box. I took Lord and Lady Delfont to see Barbara in the show. As soon as the curtain came down Barbara came through the pass door to see us in the box, bringing presents for Bernie and Carol. I said, 'I hope you're happy with the end result of your contribution to her education'. They were delighted.

In spite of my feelings for Patricia, I also became emotionally involved with Lorna. My feelings towards both of them were a great fondness, verging on love, but not extreme enough to want to marry either of them. I therefore finished up splitting my week between the two of them. This was fine for me, but not so good for them. For some reason, they endured it for six years.

Then in 1980, Patricia married Ed Truppman, and four weeks later, Lorna announced she was marrying the scenic designer on the film she was working on, 'Victor, Victoria'. What timing! However, I wasn't completely alone - I was seeing Marti Caine about this time, but I think she was even more gregarious than me, having recently been divorced after many years of marriage.

On the first night of 'The Good Companions', Danny La Rue as usual, had asked if I could arrange a pair of tickets for Norman Balin, the notorious landlord of the Coach and Horses in Old Compton Street. Norman was reputed to be the rudest landlord in London, but he loved going to the theatre.

This I arranged, and in the interval, I heard Norman bad-mouthing the production. I took him to one side, and said, 'Norman, you can watch the second half, but hereinafter, you are barred from all our first nights'. This was a large turnaround for Norman, who had built up a reputation for barring many people from his pub, the Coach and Horses, at the drop of a hat. Regardless of Danny's pleading I continued to bar Norman for years.

JOHN MILLS QUOTE: "I've never considered myself to be working for a living; I've enjoyed myself for a living instead."

Opening shortly after 'The Good Companions' at the Little Regent theatre, was a musical revue entitled 'Let My People Come'. This piece was to say the least, pornographic. It was by no means any form of opposition to the sort of things that we did, but paradoxically enough, it was presented by our dear friend Harold Fielding, with whom we had co-produced several shows, and who assumed the role of custodian of good taste and family entertainment for the West End.

I suppose Harold was looking for a way to make a fast buck, but he didn't want the general public to know, so he kept his name off the poster, never admitting publicly that he was presenting it. It ran reasonably successfully, so I guess Harold made a few bob. I went to see it, but left in the interval - not because I was shocked; I was a bit, but I found it boring.

Alex Cohen asked us if we would like to present an entertainment which he had running on Broadway, called 'Sammy Cahn's Songbook'We opened it at the New London Theatre, casting three singers; Lorna Dallas, Laurel Ford, and Terry Mitchell, to appear with Sammy and his pianist, Richard Leonard.

The evening consisted of Sammy regaling us with all the songs he had written, and stories of all the stars he had worked with. One of my favourite lines from Sammy's show (which may or may not have been original to Sammy) was, when questioned as to what came first - the music or the lyrics, he answered - the phone call.

Sammy had won three Oscars, three Tony's, had written several musicals, and many songs for films. Eighty-nine of his songs were recorded by Frank Sinatra.

Sammy was a shortish, gentle man, always full of good humour and great anecdotes; It was a pleasure to work with him. When I showed him the New London theatre, where he was to appear, he was rather taken aback with its modern style since he'd always wanted to play one of the old, smaller theatres, seating about four or five hundred.

The show got very good notices, but was not a great success. In fact, Sammy said that in all the times he walked past the front of the theatre to go backstage, he never once saw anyone at the box office. This was an exaggeration, but we certainly didn't sell enough tickets to keep it going. When the show closed, he gave me a copy of his book, 'I Should Care', inscribed for 'Richard Mills who paid the Bills'.

SAMMY CAHN LYRIC: "Love and marriage, love and marriage go together like a horse and carriage. Dad was told by mother. You can't have one without the other."

THE NEW YORK TIMES QUOTE: "One of the most successful, memorable and happy lyric writers of the last forty years...a great humourist, dry, self-deprecating and lovable...a touch of genius and a touch of love".

At Christmas we presented something that I was particularly proud of, at the Prince Edward Theatre, (it was then still called the Casino). 'Cinderella', starring, (the first show she'd ever appeared in), Twiggy, Steptoe and Son, (Wilfred Brambell and Harry H. Corbett), Nicky Henson and Roy Kinnear etc.

It wasn't the normal sort of pantomime which existed at the time with all sorts of TV and commercial jokes, and, as my wife Sheila puts it: 'Everyone doing their own thing at the same time.' Instead, it had a very well constructed and amusing book, by Frank Hauser.

I had seen this production at the Oxford Playhouse the previous Christmas and the idea came to me, that if we could combine Twiggy and Steptoe and Son in a well constructed pantomime, we might have a commercial success.

At one stage, Leo McKern was going to play one of the ugly sisters, but try as we might, with Dennis Sellinger, his agent being most co-operative, we just couldn't agree the billing so we never had the pleasure of seeing 'Rumpole of The Bailey' in drag.

The show received absolutely rave notices - some of the critics said it was the best pantomime they'd ever seen. This, combined with the glittering cast, I thought would surely turn out to be a goldmine - but it wasn't.

It ran its allotted span, but it cost us money. I was bitterly disillusioned, and I decided that it was the last pantomime I would ever do. And so it was, until the following year, when I presented Danny La Rue in 'Queen Danniella'. (Never, say never again).

It was about this time that I discovered how Dennis Sellinger managed to cope with his client, Peter Sellers. No matter what Denis suggested, Peter would fly into a rage and there would be a terrible argument.

Denis found out that Peter was seeing the famous clairvoyant, Maurice Woodruff, and Peter literally would not make any decisions without consulting him. Denis got in touch with Maurice Woodruff and said; 'You've got to keep this very secret, but if you want to earn some extra money, will you report to me every time, Peter Sellars is coming to see you. I will then tell you what I intend to discuss with him about his career next time I meet up with him, and I want you, to influence him the way I tell you. The deal was struck, and Denis never had any problems again in persuading Peter to do whatever he wanted him to do.

JAMES STEWART QUOTE: "If I had my career over again? Maybe I'd say to myself, speed it up a little."

Late in the previous year, Jimmy Grafton, Harry Secombe's agent, asked Bernie and me if we would see a play at the Open Space theatre entitled 'Schippel'. It was written by Carl Sternheim, adapted by C.P. Taylor and directed by Mike Ockrent. This was Mike's first play in the West End. I was to meet up with him many years later, when together with Susan Stroman, Mike had devised, directed and choreographed an enormous Broadway hit called 'Crazy For You').

The play was about a common, uncouth plumber, who is invited to join a quartet of upper-class gentry who had entered an international singing competition, in place of their tenor who had lost his voice. With great reluctance, they invite Schippel to join them, and the story is basically about the clash of personalities. Jimmy thought that this would be a marvellous vehicle for Harry.

I went to the Open Space, saw it and agreed completely. I conveyed my enthusiasm to Bernie and we arranged to open it, with Harry starring, at the Prince of Wales theatre on 8th September.

Deciding that the title, 'Schippel',would be a turn-off for Harry Secombe fans we renamed it 'The Plumber's Progress'.

I arranged a pre-production meeting in my office with Mike Ockrent, the director, Harry Secombe and the scenic designer. The meeting was scheduled for 2.30; Mike Ocrent and the designer were on time but Harry was late.

We discussed one or two points whilst we were waiting for him, and then the door to my office opened and in breezed Harry, followed by Eric Morecambe. They had both lunched rather well and preceded to do a double act for about twenty minutes, which I found vastly entertaining. I then got drawn into the act with Eric, inflicting me to a barrage of gags. This was also very amusing, but after a further half an hour with no let-up, I was beginning to feel a trifle overwhelmed.

Seeing which way the wind was blowing, and that there was going to be no let-up, Mike Ockrent and the designer made their excuses and left. Eric continued to bombard me with a fusilage of jokes for another hour before finally departing. I was totally shattered and felt as if I had been the participant of a three week long Morcambe & Wise Christmas Special.

I went home that evening and collapsed into bed early, thinking I never want to see Morcambe & Wise again. But I got over it after a week or two and continued to watch my favourite comics.

The play opened out of town at the Opera House Manchester, where Secombe fans were rather baffled. One was heard to say as he left the theatre in the interval, 'I didn't pay good money to hear Harry Secombe saying “bollocks” on stage'.

During the previews at the Prince of Wales, many of Harry's friends tried to persuade him to turn it into a Goon show but Harry, supported by Bernie and I, considered he should remain true to the piece. The critics were a little puzzled as to how to describe the play, but they did give good notices to all the actors, particularly to Simon Callow, who played the Crown Prince.

The show ticked over for four months, barely covering its expenses, then Harry contracted bronchitis and pneumonia. The next night, his understudy went on, and two days later, he too became ill. Seeing that the fates were conspiring against us, we threw in the towel and closed the show that Saturday night.

It was during this show that Harry told me a story of when he started out in third-rate variety. On the bill was a lion act called 'Simba'. This lion apparently was the oldest and most moth-eaten one in captivity. It was virtually toothless and clawless and had toured the circuit for years with his boss - the lion tamer. Apparently the act consisted of the lion standing on his hind legs, rolling over, jumping through a hoop and performing a few other tricks. The culmination of the act was the lion tamer lying on the floor and the lion prowling up to him and snatching from his chest a joint of meat the lion tamer had placed there. After this, the curtain would come down to minimal applause.

Harry told me he followed this act and on the first night whilst he was doing his shaving routine, behind him he heard the most terrible shots and growls, crashings and the curtain behind him was shaking. He finished his act hurriedly and dashed off onto the side of the stage asking the Stage manager frantically what had been happening and the Stage Manager told him not to worry and said: 'this happens after the act on every first house. It's the lion tamer fighting the lion trying to get the joint back so he could use it for the second house.'

HARRY SECOMBE QUOTE: "I suffer fools gladly because I am one of them."

One of the summer shows we were presenting co-starred Moira Anderson. When I went to see the show in Eastbourne, I arrived a couple of hours early. When I went to the stage door I was told that Moira Anderson was already in the theatre. I had never actually met Moira, so I thought I would go back stage to introduce myself, which I did. We had a lengthy conversation which was a trifle bizarre. I later on discovered she thought I was the piano tuner.

We were presenting Freddie Starr at the Opera House, Blackpool and he was being a trifle neurotic during the run of the show, suffering from some bad headache for which he was taking tranquillisers. The local newspapers were running unpleasant stories about him. I had seen Freddie's opening night, but I returned about a week later to see the opening night of 'The Mating Season'.

I was staying in a suite at the Savoy hotel. In those days, the foyer of the Savoy, which was rather large, was the meeting place of most of the show people in Blackpool, who could gossip and drink all night; usually, it was pretty packed until about 3 a.m. There was always the same old night porter on duty to serve them. Sometimes he loved to join in the conversations, and he was always anxious to impart to the pros, any pieces of theatrical gossip he was privy to.

On the night in question, I was fast asleep in bed at 1 a.m. when the phone rang. I sleepily answered it. 'Yes, who is it?'  I asked. 'It's Freddie, Freddie Starr. I've got to speak to you'. 'Okay', I mumbled drowsily, 'I'll see you tomorrow'. 'No, I've got to come and see you now. It's about all this terrible publicity I'm getting in the papers - I need to know what to do about it'. 'OK', I reluctantly answered. 'Come and see me in my suite'. 'I'll be there in twenty minutes', he said.

I got up, put on my dressing gown, and awaited his arrival. Freddie came in, and sat down. I asked him if he'd like something. He said, yes, he'd like a cup of tea. So on the telephone, I called for the night porter to come up, and take an order. When he came into the suite, he was rather surprised to see me in my dressing gown, with Freddie Starr. I asked for a pot of tea, a large brandy and ginger ale and a sandwich. As he was about to leave, Freddie said, 'Oh, and can you bring a large tube of KY'. 'What's KY', asked the porter. 'It's a lubricant for you know what', said Freddie, making an obscene gesture. 'But what ever you do, don't tell all those pros downstairs in the foyer what's going on'.

Needless to say, the porter did. But since they all knew Freddie, I think they all took it with a grain of salt. At least - I hope they did. I certainly have no painful, (if you'll pardon the expression), recollection of anyone questioning me about this incident.

At the Talk of the Town we had a strike by the catering staff over pay, and the division of tips. They tried to bring out Equity and the Musicians' Union with them. Bernie and I had an emergency meeting with Charles Forte, and it was decided that provided Equity and the MU didn't support the strike, we would stand firm.

I spoke to Peter Plouviez, who felt that in the circumstances, his members wouldn't be supportive, nor it was felt would the Musicians' Union. We therefore arranged that cold, airline type packaged food was served by waiters recruited from outside and kept our fingers crossed that the musicians and actors would cross the catering staff's picket lines. There was a certain amount of wavering, but eventually we won, and after a few days, the catering staff called off the strike.

At the Opera House Manchester we presented 'The Val Doonican Show' with Daily & Wayne, Paul Daniels etc. This was Paul's first job with us; he was earning £225 a week. He only had a fifteen minute slot; little did I dream that he was supremely capable of doing much longer than this. He thought he was working very cheaply, but being a shrewd business man he realised that our company, being the largest, could, long-term, create more opportunities for him than anyone else.

During the run he nearly had an accident; he turned up early one evening in the first week to get his props ready, and found the curtain up. He hadn't realised he'd signed for nine shows - not eight. He told me later that he thought £225 for eight shows was very cheap - but for nine shows, was ridiculous.

We were asked by Richard Stone if we'd like to present with Duncan C. Wheldon and Louis Michaels, a stage version of 'Dad's Army', with the entire original cast together. This looked as if it was going to be a goldmine. We tried it out at the Forum, Billingham, and then opened at the Shaftesbury theatre on 2nd October. It did very well indeed - but a goldmine, it wasn't.

ARTHUR LOWE QUOTE: "Acting must be scaled down for the screen. A drawing room is a lot smaller than a theatre auditorium."

In spite of my vow never to present another pantomime, on 18th December at The Casino, which is now the Prince Edward theatre, we opened 'The Exciting Adventures of Queen Danniella', starring Danny La Rue. Moira Fraser and Alan Haynes were among others in the cast, and Freddie Carpenter, the director, came to me with great excitement, saying:" We can get Sheila White to play Danny's daughter'. 'Who's she?' I asked having forgotten. 'Oh, she's marvellous', said Freddie. 'She was in 'On The Level', 'Dames at Sea' where she got fantastic notices, she played Bet, in the film of 'Oliver', and then went to Paris, and headlined there for a number of years; she's now back in London'. 'Okay', I said, now remembering ', 'we'll have her'.

The show had a very successful run of four months, during which time, Danny, who'd never missed a performance in his life, was taken ill with a very severe throat infection. He said he was going to continue, no matter what. I went to see him in his dressing room before the show, to ask him how he could possibly perform with virtually no voice; he certainly couldn't sing. 'My plan is', he said, 'with the use of the radio mike, I can croak through the dialogue and for one or two of the songs. I'll stand next to Sheila White, and she can sing them for me'.

Whilst I was talking to Danny in the dressing room dressed in my black overcoat and carrying my briefcase, Sheila came in to discuss the arrangements with Danny. She later told me she thought I was the theatre doctor.

During the show, when she was standing next to Danny singing his song, he grasped her hand, his artificial nails digging in to her so hard, that she thought he was going to break her wrist. Danny made a lightning recovery, and the show ran its allotted course.

Shortly after the show finished, Sheila White went on to star in the very successful BBC television serial 'I Claudius' playing Messalina opposite Derek Jacobi's Claudius.

Sheila White as Messalina in 'I Claudius'

It was during this year that Danny La Rue opened his small theatre at his newly acquired Walton Hall. We had a very long association with Danny. We presented him in two West End shows which between them ran for nearly four years at almost capacity; two TV spectaculars, two Coventry shows, five tours and six summer seasons.

He was not only a professional down to his fingertips - it extended beyond that - to the end of his false nails. Danny never missed a performance in all the shows I did with him, and invariably played to sell-out business. He was a joy to work with, but he could be demanding, and when he'd had a little too much of his favourite tipple - champagne, (I hasten to add, always after a performance, never before or during), he could be rather difficult.

There was only one occasion I can recall when Danny had a drink during the show. For the opening of his pride and joy, the little theatre he had created at Walton Hall, he invited not only all his friends from the light entertainment side of the business but also many of the artists from the Royal Shakespeare Company, which was relatively nearby.

At the commencement of the evening, Danny walked on to the stage and welcomed us all. He went to great pains to say how honoured all the light entertainment people should be to have the cream of show business - the legitimate actors - from the Royal Shakespeare Company with us. 'These legitimate actors are the people who give style and polish to our profession, and we light entertainment people should be grateful to them for helping us to achieve respectability'.

Fast forward. Unlike any other time when Danny is performing, he starts to have a few glasses of champagne, and as the evening wears on, he becomes rather inebriated. When he gets to this stage - look out. Wayne King, his partner, is performing at the piano at this stage of the show and one or two members of the Royal Shakespeare Company are chatting rather loudly to each other. Danny hears this - hurtles on to the stage - stops Wayne King in the middle of his act, and launches into a tirade against the Royal Shakespeare Company. 'You're all a lot of wankers!' - or words to that effect. 'All you do is go on and spout other people's lines, while we light entertainment people are the ones who create the magic from our own persona! You don't deserve to be in the same room as us!' Now, to say that they were a trifle nonplussed, after being told by him earlier that they were the cream of the British theatre, was an understatement.

The show finished in an uproar. Danny departed backstage. I shot round to his dressing room where he was sitting in a chair being held down by Wayne King and Jack Hanson his Manager. Danny was incoherent with rage. 'How DARE those legitimate fuckers come and destroy my first night!'

Jack Hanson, seeing drastic measures were called for, got a bucket of water and threw it over him, to calm Danny down, which had the effect of dampening down the proceedings. This was a first for Danny, but the next day he was fully recovered and back to his usual affable self and one could forgive him the odd transgression, for his supreme professionalism.

This year, Bernie received a message that Harold Wilson, the Prime Minister, wanted to see him. At the meeting, after some general chit-chat, he asked Bernie if he would like to be a peer. It could either be for services to the theatre, or charity. Bernie was given the choice - he elected it should be for charity. Bernie was stunned that he should receive this honour, so soon after being knighted.

But there was an even bigger surprise for him. On his way out, the Prime Minister told him that he was also elevating his brother Lew, to the peerage. They both formed part of Harold Wilson's Resignation Honours List, which, because of the reputed influence of his secretary, Marcia Williams, it became known as the 'Lavender List'.

Bernie invited me together with Carol, his three children and his secretary, Mrs Gaston, to observe his inauguration in full regalia at the House of Lords accompanied by his sponsors. He followed this with a private lunch for us in one of the Lord's reception rooms. When I pulled up to the entrance to the House of Lords in my Rolls Royce, I was very flattered when the security man said, 'We will try and find a parking space for your Lordship'. I didn't bother to tell him I wasn't a Lord; I told my chauffeur to drive off and pick me up later.

In May 1976, I was approached and asked if I would like to join the National Theatre Board and the Finance and General Purposes Committee as a representative of West End Commercial Theatre.

Unlike any other subsidised theatre board, the appointments to the National Theatre were made by the government. I don't know who put my name forward; it might have been Sir Tom Arnold, (Tom Arnold's son who was a Member of Parliament), or it might have been Peter Hall suggesting to Lord Rayne that he ask the government that I be appointed, but in any event, there I was. This was a position which Binkie Beaumont had filled until 1973, when the National Theatre was at the Old Vic, so naturally, I was flattered.

Years later, I was pleased to read in Peter Hall's diaries, that when I was appointed to the Board along with Yvonne Mitchell and Harold Hobson, he felt my appointment would really help matters; he wrote of me: “that as a level headed commercial theatre man he would help bring some balance to the Board”.

I decided there would be a conflict of interest in being involved with the Arts Council and sitting on the board of the National Theatre. The Drama Panel of the Arts Council which I had joined the previous year, consisted largely of representatives of the subsidised theatre from various quarters of the UK. Some of them were rather left-wing and subsequently, there was a great deal of muttering about the amount of subsidy which had been given to the National Theatre to: a) build it, and b), to fund it on an ongoing, annual basis. Certain vociferous members of the panel demanded either a share of the National Theatre's subsidy, or permanent access to one of the three theatres in the building.

I saw merit in the idea of the National Theatre, opening the doors of one of its auditoria to works of quality from subsidised theatre throughout the UK - if not on a permanent basis - then on a basis of perhaps three or four months a year.

The logistics of how this plan would tie in with the day to day running of the rest of the National Theatre was of course, an extremely difficult nettle to grasp, but since there was no access to any of the theatres at the National Theatre at the time, there didn't seem much point in trying to resolve a problem which didn't exist.

In short, I was in a dilemma. Most of me was totally in favour of the new National Theatre finally coming to fruition after many, many years of procrastination, and a small part of me felt there should be access to all and sundry. In short, a conflict of interest; I felt I had no choice, other than to resign from the Drama Panel of the Arts Council. My resignation was accepted with very good grace from the rest of the panel, and they all wished me well. Some of them said however, 'Be prepared - we shall be knocking on the gates of your citadel'.

We co-presented with Robert Luff two summer seasons shows - 'The Black & White Minstrels'. I got on very well with Robert to begin with. When we were setting up the deals to present the 'Black & White Minstrels' at Blackpool and Yarmouth, he said that he controlled the sole rights, and he was going to leave them to me in his will.

It transpired he didn't, but if he had, there's nothing I could have done with the rights in later years since they quickly became totally politically incorrect. He also asked me if I would like to let him make me a 'name' in the city. I was hesitant, but he was insistent. He said 'It's money for old rope; everybody does it, and each year you get something for nothing'. I said, 'Bob, I really am a firm believer in the saying, “there's no free lunch”. So if you don't mind, I'll pass'.

Thank God I did. In later years, some of my friends who were 'names' were totally wiped out through the vast insurance claims they had to cover.

Michael Sullivan, who by now had moved to Marbella, was running a golf tournament at the El Pariso Golf Club at Estapona. The trophy was known as the 'Edward Heath Trophy'. Although I was very busy, Michael begged me to go over and participate. 'Everything will be fine', he said - 'leave it to me. I'll fix up all the accommodation etc'.

I flew out with Patricia; we arrived late evening at Marbella and Michael met us at the airport. 'Where are we staying?', I asked. 'Don't worry', he said - 'there's a brand new complex of chalets that have been built on the golf course and I have arranged that you stay in one of these'. It was dark when we arrived; Michael who had the key, opened the door of this tiny building and we went inside. He found the main switch and put the lights on.

All we could see was a small kitchen, a bathroom and a living room, sparsely furnished. It was bitterly cold and there was no heating. 'Where's the bedroom?', I asked. Michael looked around and said: 'There doesn't appear to be one. Perhaps you sleep in the living room'. 'Then where's the bed?', I asked. He took another look round and said, 'I guess it's hidden away somewhere. Maybe the settee converts into a bed. Got to go now. I'll pick you up in the morning', and he shot out of the door.

Patricia and I established that the settee did not convert into a bed and we eventually found it folded up inside a cupboard. But unfortunately, there were no sheets, blankets or pillows. We made the best we could out of it and slept with our coats over us. 'Wait until I see Michael when he comes to pick us up in the morning', I said.

Morning dawned - it was pouring with rain - there was nothing to eat or drink in the kitchen. Time went by, and after we had waited for about an hour and a half and there was still no sign of Michael, I said to Patricia, 'I can't bear this any longer, I more or less know where his house is - it's about a twenty minute walk'. So in the lashing rain, carrying our suitcases, we finally arrived at Michael's house to find Michael and other guests sitting round a roaring fire in his living room.

'Oh - I was just coming to pick you up', he said. 'Were you now' I replied. 'Well you can just drive us straight to the airport - I'm going back to London'. Michael begged me to stay and immediately got on the phone to a nearby hotel and booked Patricia and me in. As it was for charity, I reluctantly agreed to stay and the happy outcome, as far as I was concerned, was that I won the Edward Heath trophy. On the darker side of the story, I'm not sure that Michael passed over to the charity the money which he raised. But then - that was Michael - a loveable rogue.

There was another occasion when I was playing golf with Michael in Spain in the blistering heat; it must have been about 100 degrees and we couldn't get a buggy or a caddy, and we were pulling our bags on trolleys. After about five holes, I said to Michael, 'I can't take any more of this - I'm dying in this heat'. Michael, who had spotted something in the distance said, 'Don't worry, I can sort this out'.

What Michael had spotted then hove into view. It was a golf buggy which was supposed to seat two, with three Americans seated on it with three of the most enormous golf bags you have ever seen. As they drew level with us, Michael stepped in front of the buggy and held up his hand for them to stop. They pulled up and Michael said, 'I am the Secretary of this golf club and you are in complete breach of the Rules - only two people are allowed to ride on a buggy - I am confiscating it'! The Americans sheepishly removed their enormous bags: Michael and I loaded our bags on and sped away into the distance leaving behind three exhausted golfers carrying tons of equipment in the blazing heat.

You want another Michael Sullivan golfing story? We were playing the El Pariso course, albeit very slowly because it was crowded, when in the distance we saw the next tee which was for a par 3, and had four groups queuing up waiting to play the hole. I turned to Michael and said, 'Bloody hell - we're going to be waiting here for about forty minutes!' 'Leave it to me', said Michael. As we approached the tee, he said, 'You walk in front of me and I am going to put my hand on your shoulder'. As we approached the tee, Michael said in a loud voice, 'Blind golfer coming through'. They all shuffled to one side: I teed up first and Michael said to me, 'whereabouts is the teeing ground?' I took his hand which had the tee and a ball in it and guided him as to where to place it. He took a swing and made a good connection. 'That's remarkable', said the spectators on the tee as we walked off into the distance.

Well I suppose if he'd thought about it, Michael would have taken up a collection of guide dogs at the same time.

Edward Heath presenting me with the Edward Heath trophy at El Pariso

Early on in the year, I read a treatment of a new musical called 'Mardi Gras', which we decided to present at the Prince of Wales. The music and lyrics were by Alan Blaikley and Ken Howard, who'd had ten hits in the top 10; their song writing success in this country at that time was only surpassed by John Lennon and Paul McCartney. The book was by Melvyn Bragg; Clifford Williams was the director.

For some reason they were against my choice of Paddy Stone as choreographer, but using all my powers of persuasion, he was finally appointed and of course, as always, came up with some brilliant choreography. Initially, I had thought of it as a possible vehicle for Tommy Steele, but when I played him the demonstration tape of the music in my flat in Wimpole Street, he had just come from the dentist, round the corner, and was by no means in a receptive mood. He said that he would pass on this one.

Some years earlier at a party, I had heard Nicky Henson singing 'The House of the Rising Sun' whilst at the same time accompanying himself on the guitar. I was very impressed by this at the time, and of course, he was established as a fine actor. I thought, as we hadn't got the possibility of a star name, we would go with Nicky; he more than fulfilled our expectation. Also in the cast were Dana Gillespie, Miquel Brown, Aubrey Woods, Marsha Hunt and Lon Satton. No stars - but all very solid performers.

During rehearsals we just couldn't seem to get the book right; Clifford Williams and I would sit there at the end of each day throwing ideas backwards and forwards, and then, we'd ask Melvyn Bragg if he would re-write. Melvyn was extremely accommodating; no matter what we asked - he did it, with no carping. He re-wrote the book six times.

One of the five re-writes rejected was possibly the right one, and instead we finished up with what might be described as 'a happening'. Years later, I complimented Melvyn on his supreme co-operation, and asked him why he never objected. Well, he said, 'I thought you knew more about musicals than I did'. Maybe - maybe.But what about plot construction ?.

On the opening night, Bernie was taken ill during the first act, and had to be escorted up to my office by Doctor Joe Freeman, his brother-in-law. We thought he might possibly have suffered a heart attack, but since there was nothing we could do, we left him with the doctor.

When I came down the stairs, I was pounced on with great excitement by a show business writer, who was supposedly a great friend of Bernie's saying, 'Is it true? Is it true? Bernie's had a heart attack?' 'I don't know - the doctor is still examining him', I said. 'But you must let me know what's going on', the “friend” said. 'Why?' I asked. He replied, 'It's a great story - Bernard Delfont has heart attack in the middle of first night. I can get a scoop'. So much for his friendship.

It transpired that Bernie was merely suffering from heat exhaustion, excitement and a few large whiskies; he rejoined us quite happily for the second act. After the first night, I didn't go to a party - I just went straight home alone. That way I avoided a clash between Patricia, who was my guest, and Lorna, who was in the show.

When the notices came out, one critic defined it as 'a Frankenstein monster with bits welded on willy-nilly', but most of the press were extremely enthusiastic about it. I had previously prepared myself that we might need some help, so I arranged for a television commercial to be made of highlights of the show. It was extremely expensive - in fact, it was the most costly commercial which had been made in the theatre.

I obtained some keen deals with the commercial channels, and each time we showed it, the box office takings rocketed. When we didn't show it, the box office fell away. Unfortunately, the cost of showing it outstripped the amount of money it was bringing into the box office, plus, the summer of 1976 was one of the hottest on record, and we didn't have air conditioning in the theatre. It was so hot that Lorna lost over a stone in weight dancing in the show, and she was light to begin with. Everybody who saw the show appeared to love it, but there just weren't enough of them. We eventually closed after two hundred and ten performances.

MELVYN BRAGG QUOTE: "Life is lot of socialists, I find I quite like managing other people's money".

Replacing that at the Prince of Wales was a two-hander, which opened on 22nd September, starring Michael Crawford and Frances Cuka. Michael had acquired the reputation of occasionally being a little difficult, but as I've written before, most stars know what's good for them, (and by now he was a star), and if you cater for them, provided it is not totally unreasonable - they will be fine.

I was chatting to Michael during rehearsals; I said to him, 'Michael, let me give you a tip. Before you open, somebody is going to want to paint your dressing room. Whatever you do, don't let them paint it before your first night, because the fumes will linger and get into your throat'. 'Oh, thanks Richard - that's a good tip. I'll remember it'.

His dressing room was repainted three or four days before the first night, and I believe he suffered some minor throat irritation, but nothing that inconvenienced him too much. As always, he gave a magnificent performance, as did Frances Cuka. The show was successful and ran for three hundred and twelve performances.

There was a new theatre in Toronto called The O'Keefe Centre, an enormous barn of a place, holding nearly 4,000 people. They were anxious to find large scale attractions to play this theatre, even to the extent of offering large financial guarantees. I knew of several shows that had played there, which had been very well received. I thought it might be an idea to take 'The Danny La Rue Show', which had closed the previous year at the Prince of Wales.

It was to be a major undertaking, but they offered me a very large guarantee. Danny agreed it would be a challenge to play somewhere else other than the UK, so we put the package together. There was one problem; Danny had at that time a fear of flying, so, together with some of the principles, Toni Palmer, David Ellen, Wayne King, and his musical director, Derek New, Danny sailed across on the Queen Elizabeth II. In return for them doing two shows, they were to be given free first-class accommodation. They had a rough passage over, but still managed to give the two performances. Danny of course, having been in the Navy, didn't suffer from sea sickness, but some of the others did.

They drove from New York up to Toronto and opened very successfully in October. Apart from one notice, they had very good press, and played to capacity. In spite of this, and the guarantee I received, because of the enormous costs in transporting all the scenery, costumes and nearly thirty people, we only broke even. At least it proved that Danny could entertain an audience in countries other than the UK.

This year was the twentieth anniversary of Tommy Steele's entry into show business, so I asked him if he would like to do an Anniversary show for the Autumn Season at Coventry. He was loath to do this, but said he would agree, provided we paid him a salary which left him enough after tax, to buy a particular painting, which he was particularly fond of. I think it was a Buffet. We worked out what it would cost, the salary was agreed, and so off he went to Coventry to start the run.

I asked him if he would like to have a party after the opening night. He said, 'I'm sorry, but until after the show, I won't know if we've got anything to celebrate, so let's have a meal at the nearby Leofric Hotel restaurant. You have your table with your friends, and I'll have a table with my family nearby. If the show works - we'll join up - but you pick up the bill'.

The show was a success, and we joined up. Tommy as usual had his favourite food which was lobster. When I received the bill at the end of the evening, Tommy said, 'I hope you don't mind me asking, but how much did they charge for the lobster?' 'Seventy-nine pounds', I replied. 'That's absolutely outrageous!' he said. 'Don't pay the bill - or at least pay the bill, but don't pay for the lobster. Leave it to me - I'll sort it out'.

The next evening, I phoned some of the finest restaurants in the world - in Paris, Rome, and in London's West End, and asked them how much they charged for lobster. Each one was cheaper, apart from Maxims in Paris, which was about the same. I phoned Tommy and told him this. He arranged for his Personal Assistant to get up at 3 a.m. the next morning, drive to a fishing village and buy a lobster. His P.A. arrived back with it; Tommy wrapped it up with half a pound of butter, and sent it to the Manager of the Leofric Hotel, in lieu of payment. We never heard another word.

Years later with Tommy at one of his New Year's parties -
probably discussing the price of lobster

At the North Pier Blackpool we produced 'The Black Abbotts with Russ Abbott'. During the run of this show, Russ Abbott's agent, Mike Hughes, came to see me and asked me what I thought about the idea of Russ possibly leaving the Black Abbotts and branching out on his own. I thought he had great potential, and he could certainly perform as a solo act. Mike weighed up the pros and cons, and it was agreed that the final decision would be made after next year's show, which was to take place at the Britannia Pier, Great Yarmouth.

Paul Daniels starred in his own show at The Britannia Pier, Great Yarmouth, and Paul was growing so rapidly in stature every year (which was reflected in his salary, which was now thousands of pounds a week), that I started to toy with the idea of presenting him in the West End; his agent, Mervyn O'Horan, was delighted with the suggestion. It was agreed that the following year we would shape the show in a summer season at Bournemouth, and then if it worked well, transfer it to the West End.

It was during the run of this show that I first met a very attractive young dancer who had trained at the Royal Ballet school. Her name was Debbie McGee. She worked with Paul in all his shows over the subsequent years and had an on-off relationship with him. Finally, they decided it was better on than off and they married in 1988. Little did I dream in 1979 that Debbie was to become a household name.

Whether it was because of Paul's influence or her own innate intelligence, or a mixture of both, I don't know. But she developed into an incredibly astute business woman, apart from being able to shine on various chat and game shows, and indeed, on any television show she appeared in. I am delighted that she and Paul became our very close friends over the years; they are godparents to my son Christopher and continue to take this role seriously, even though he is now in his late teens.

Paul and Debbie with their godson, Christopher

Debbie and Paul in the days they were poor and on welfare
until I gave them each a turkey and made them stars

Marti Caine was starring at the Futurist Theatre, Scarborough. I had become very friendly with her and asked her if she would like to play the Talk of the Town, with the proviso that she took out some of the blue material, which although extremely successful in the clubs and Summer Seasons, would have been a little too over the top for the West End. She and her agent, Johnny Peller, were delighted to have the opportunity of appearing there.

In order to give her act more polish, I invited Robert Nesbitt to go up to Scarborough with me to see her act, and to discuss ways of improving it for the West End. She had very good ideas of her own, and Robert of course, also had some extremely helpful suggestions.

Whilst I was in Scarborough with Robert, I asked him if he would like to come with me and see Freddie Starr, who was playing at an opposition theatre. 'Don't be surprised Robert', I said, 'if we don't sit in the best seats. I'm deliberately going to sit at the back of the stalls and we will go incognito. Freddie Starr won't know we're in, and won't see us in the audience, because if he does, we are going to get a lot of stick'.

We settled ourselves into our seats and the curtain went up, Freddie came on, and to my horror, I found he had discovered a new trick. He took a mirror on stage with him, then held it up, so that his spotlight hit it; it reflected into the audience; he shone the light all over the audience until he came across Robert and me sitting there. That was it. We came in for the usual stick - always good natured of course, but wicked. 

It was rather strange to see the urbane, debonair Robert being inflicted, (probably for the first time in his life), with the barbs that Freddie was directing at us. But we forgave him, and went backstage afterwards to compliment him on his performance, part of which was a tribute to Elvis Presley, which he performed impeccably, but it was overlong.

His manager, Tony Cartwright, had said to me previously, 'Freddie Starr is besotted with Elvis Presley, so much so, that if Presley was in his coffin on the stage, Freddie would climb in with him'.

Freddie asked me one day if I would like to be his agent. I replied that only if he became more like Elvis Presley - dead.

Little & Large, Frank Carson and Norman Collier starred for us at the Opera House, Blackpool. It was probably the greatest success ever at the theatre - twelve shows a week, at a theatre holding over 3,000 people, and we played to 97% capacity.

After the first night, we had a party, and Frank Carson and Norman Collier performed an impromptu cabaret, which was one of the best I have seen. Frank could never resist the temptation to get up and do a turn. It was the proverbial case of: opening the fridge door - when the light comes on - he does his act. If you played a round of golf with him, and you had a drink in the bar afterwards, even if there were only three people present, he would do his act - he would even do his act for you while you were playing golf.

I told Patricia, my girlfriend, that this was really something she had to see. 'Walk round with us while we're playing golf - you will find it very amusing', I said. Frank didn't crack one gag all the way round. This was definitely a first.

I decided to try something different at the Winter Gardens. I approached Mervyn Conn, who was one of the most successful promoters of country and western music, filling enormous halls; I asked him if he would like to co-present with us a country and western show starring George Hamilton IV. He was overjoyed.

Before the curtain went up on the first night, he said to me, 'this is one of the best days of my life. Here I am, co-presenting a Summer Season show with Bernard Delfont and Richard Mills in Blackpool - the home of light entertainment'.

I saw him late in the afternoon the next day, and he said to me, 'This is the unhappiest day of my life'. 'What's changed', I said. 'Bad notices, no advance bookings, somebody stole my Rolls Royce from your theatre car park last night, and left it wrecked and abandoned in a country lane'. I wasn't quite sure what to say; I think I muttered something about 'that's show business'.

It was about this time that my brilliant new secretary, Sue Fowler, joined me. Over the next sixteen years I never saw her in a bad mood, (although on occasion, she must have been, but she hid it well). She could take dictation faster than I could speak; she was the only one who could read my handwriting; she was never late and I think you could count on the fingers of two hands the days she had off through sickness.

At the ABC, Great Yarmouth we presented The Bachelors, supported by Billy Dainty and a newcomer on £275 a week - Michael Barrymore; this was the first time Michael had appeared for us. I didn't know anything about him, but Norman Murray and Ann Chudleigh had pressed me very hard to give him a slot. Since they were booking Little & Large with me I could hardly refuse. I gave him twelve minutes.

He came on, stood on his head at the same time doing impressions for about five minutes, whilst contorting his legs into various ridiculous poses. He then stood on his feet, and did some other things - I can't remember now what they were, but Dicky Hurran who was directing the show said, 'We've got to get rid of him'. I said, 'No, we can't do that'. He replied, 'Well, I disagree with you'. I said, 'I'm sorry, he stays'. 'Well at least let me cut his time', he retorted.

Not wanting to be too confrontational, and thinking that Barrymore could do what he was doing in less time, and make just as much impact, I agreed. Dickie Hurran cut his time to seven minutes to the chagrin of his agents, who told me 'Barrymore is going to be a great star'. 'Well, if he is', I said, 'I have yet to see the indications'.

I found Barrymore, in the face of all this adversity, to be one of the most courteous and polite entertainers whom I have ever met. He was absolutely charming. Little did I dream that years later, this apparently innocuous, friendly person was going to be involved in a highly publicized murder inquiry and be hammered by the press for many years, so much so that his career was virtually destroyed and going from being one of the top entertainers in the country, he was to be reduced to scratching around for jobs. He even moved to New Zealand to try and resuscitate his career there; but later returned to this country.

At one of Tommy Steele's New Year parties, we hatched out a plan to do his one-man show at the Prince of Wales theatre. Tommy would only do it on condition that we tried it out at Blackpool first, and then, if we both thought it would work, only then, would we go to the Prince of Wales.

Well, it did work, and during the show after we set the opening date for London, Tommy said, 'Do you want the greatest piece of publicity that you've had for a show? If you do, give me £2,000'. 'What's it for?' I enquired. He said, 'I'm going to build a 10ft. high statue of Charlie Chaplin in my hotel suite'.

At that time there was controversy in London about erecting a statue of Charlie Chaplin, and where it should be situated. 'Nobody will know', said Tommy. 'How will you do that without anybody finding out?' I asked. 'Don't worry, leave it with me', he replied. It was all done in the greatest secrecy - even the transportation of it from the hotel, up to a kiln in Blackburn, where it was fired.

Tommy had it transported down to London, and kept it hidden. Then, one morning at 4 a.m., he had it deposited in Leicester Square, with ballast in the base weighing about one ton, so it would be difficult to move. He then arranged for all the newspapers to be telephoned, saying that an anonymous person had left a statue of Charlie Chaplin in Leicester Square. All the national press, anticipating a good story dispatched photographers, and on the front pages of every national newspaper was an enormous picture, and a story of Chaplin - but nobody knew who had left it there.

The police duly arrived, arrested the statue, and transported it to one of their car pounds. Meanwhile, the mystery still raged. After three days, Tommy phoned all the papers and said, 'It's a fair cop governor, I was responsible'.

Once again, we received enormous coverage in virtually every national newspaper. Tommy had three miniatures made of the statue, one he gave to me, Tommy retained one, and the other he gave to Ian Bevin, his agent. The irony of the story is that Tommy then had the statue transported to his house taking pride of place in his front courtyard. Some years later, whilst he was away on holiday, a gang of thieves with a large lorry arrived at his house, and stole the statue. It's never been seen from that day to this.

Charlie Chaplin by Tommy Steele

Planning the show - Dickie Hurran, Tommy, Bernard Delfont and me

Just prior to opening at the Prince of Wales theatre, Tommy agreed to do a television special lasting an hour, which incorporated a great deal of the show. He told me that he had deliberately stayed off television for several years until the right moment arrived.

The next morning, after the television special came out there were queues at the box office extending half-way around the block. We opened on 11th November 1979, and the show ran for 453 performances, which is the record for the longest-running one-man show. Tommy told me that on the day of the first night he was, as would be expected, extremely nervous, and to take his mind off the impending show, he spent the afternoon watching the shock horror film 'Alien'. I understand this helped to slightly alleviate his apprehension.

'An Evening with Tommy Steele' continued to have an enormously successful run at the Prince of Wales theatre, finally closing on the 29th November after playing 456 performances.

There was an up-and-coming act, Cannon & Ball, which I thought was going to be really enormous. I put them on at the North Pier, Blackpool, surrounded them with a very strong cast and gave them a very lavish production, directed by Alan Blackburn and choreographed by Nita Howard. They sold out. I did the same thing at the Britannia Pier, Great Yarmouth - once again - sold out. As a token of their appreciation, the next year they went and worked for somebody else.

I agreed with Mike Hughes that Russ Abbott who was appearing for us with The Black Abbotts, was finally going to go solo for us next year. The rest of the group got to hear about this and needless to say, it wasn't a very happy atmosphere during the run of the show at the Britannia Pier.

It was about this time that Keith Harris with his duck, Orville, decided that producing managements were making too much money presenting summer shows, and he was so successful that he thought if he presented himself, he would earn a lot more. This worked at first and he went round telling all the leading artists that they should present their own shows. There was one thing he forgot. If the show didn't work, he would lose a lot of money and not get paid.

I don't think there was anything wrong with this, as long as you didn't want to do major productions with large casts, opulent costumes and impressive scenery. In other words, it's okay to be a big fish in a little pond but don't become fettered with all of the problems associated with lavish productions.

Several artists have taken to staging their own shows - Paul Daniels, Jimmy Tarbuck and Ken Dodd amongst them. And very well they have done too. To my knowledge, only one person met the problem head on, formed his own production company and staged lavish shows very well. This was Jim Davidson - but whether at the end of the day he would have earned more just by hiring out his services - only he knows.

We had now firmly established that Paul Daniels was going to star in the West End, so I presented him at the Pavilion Theatre, Bournemouth with Karen Kay, and this show was used to break in material for Paul and Karen for the forthcoming show, 'It's Magic', at the Prince of Wales theatre.

Paul's son was helping him as an assistant, and my daughter Janey was given the job as ASM, to see if we could get her launched in the business. She had done a stint in the box office at the Prince of Wales, but I wanted to give her some backstage experience. Apart from this, she did a couple of jobs as ASM at the Theatre Royal Norwich, but theatre didn't really suit her.

She went through various ups and downs, but now she is settled down as a State Registered Nurse in California, where she lives in Santa Cruz with her two sons, John and Richard, who, coincidentally, are approximately the same age as my two sons, by my wife, Sheila White, Matthew and Christopher.

'It's Magic' opened on 5th December and ran for 498 performances. It was a tremendous success and the critics, and indeed the West End audience were really enthralled by Paul's performance.

As I gathered over the years, Paul's intellect was extremely high, (I would like to have known what his IQ was). His mind was as fast as lightning and no matter what subject you were discussing, he always seemed to know a lot more about it than you; so much so, that it sometimes crossed my mind, was this Paul's training as a magician, manipulating the conversation the same way that he could force a card on you? - but I decided - no - it was genuine. He was smarter than you in most things. Apart from that, he is a very warm and generous person.

It grieves me that the press have chosen to snipe at him from time to time, but then I suppose they have to fill their column inches. His subsequent wedding to Debbie McGee some years later, gave Sheila and I, not one, but a pair of very close friends, to whom I know we could turn to, should ever the occasion arise.