Ooh, You Are Awful ... But I Like You! by Fay Hillier

It's Only Money

. . . By the end of 1946, Dick got his first taste of pantomime in Cinderella as one of the ugly sisters at a prestigious theatre in Blackpool. This was followed by the inevitable succession of summer shows, pantomime and near-starvation in between.
       ‘I was never sure when or where the next job was coming from. Like a lot of performers, I was filled with a terrible depression when I wasn’t working - and I became a bag of nerves when I was!’ But in this no-win situation Dick found himself making new friends all the time.
      One such acquaintance, who became a special friend, was Tony Hancock, who outshone even Dick in being a victim of his own insecurity. Tony lived in a first-floor flat in Leicester Square, two minutes from the Windmill Theatre, in a surprisingly spacious apartment for a comedian who was more often out of work than in it. The weekly rent was hard to earn, which was why, when Dick first set foot inside Tony’s front door, he found no furniture whatsoever. Just a sink, a gas cooker and a loo down a gloomy passage. There wasn’t even a mirror - Hancock shaved in front of the polished copper geyser.
      ‘Where do you sleep?’ Dick asked in bewilderment, his voice a hollow echo in the cavernous room. Tony pointed to the corner. ‘There,’ he said. But there was no bed, just a pile of newspapers. ‘Fresh sheets every day, matey! And I put a coat over myself for warmth.’
      Dick grinned. ‘Five-star comfort, eh?’
      What little food Tony could afford, he ate standing up at the mantelpiece. As they grew to know each other better, Tony would sometimes invite Dick round for breakfast. ‘He would boil us a couple of eggs in his one and only pan,’ Dick recalled. ‘And we would eat them out of a coil of newspaper like an ice-cream cone, with one elbow nonchalantly leaning on the shelf above the gas fire. When times were really hard, we’d share an egg between us! But we never stopped talking.
      Apart from showbiz gossip, we’d put the world to rights - and then plan our careers in detail, working out how we would become international stars . . .’
      Tony got his big break when he was taken on at the Windmill Theatre as resident comic, a lesser-known part of its famous burlesque review. The job meant security with steady money coming in. It was a lifesaver. No more endless travelling, the bills could be paid, and he might eventually be able to afford some furniture!
      The Windmill show started at nine o’clock in the morning and continued until midnight. An early audience might consist of only three people, but the seats filled up as time moved on. The girls were chosen for their beauty, and even though they were not allowed to move so much as an eyelash, they were famous for the wonderful naked tableau in which they posed. Tony confided this information to Dick after he had been working at the Windmill for a few weeks. They were sharing another stand-up breakfast at the mantelpiece in Tony’s flat.
      ‘Imagine how soul-destroying it is trying to get laughs from people who wish you weren’t there. You wouldn’t believe it, but when the girls go off, everyone in the audience gets out a newspaper and reads it till they come on again.’ Dick shuddered to think of it. ‘Why do they have comics and acts then?’ he asked indignantly. ‘So they can change the set. Me, I just think of the money,’ replied Tony, and he took a pound out of his clip and pushed it into Dick’s breast pocket. Dick protested, but to no avail. All Tony would say was: ‘It’s only money.’ . . .

      . . . Dick stayed a year at the Windmill and every day gave him renewed confidence. Writing fresh material for the six-weekly change of show focused his mind. He brought new characters out of creative corners, made them flesh and blood, dreamed up anecdotes and sketches - even if it was only to face a sea of newspapers. No matter. More often than not he got through to his audience and the laughter that was music to Van Damm’s ears filled the small theatre.
      Although now successful in his career, Dick’s personal life seemed to be going from bad to worse. He could not sustain a relationship, however hard he tried. He didn’t realize what a devastating influence his mother was having. Her attitude was simple: as long as the girl was no threat to her relationship with her beloved son, no problem. But if it looked as though Dick might be getting serious, out came the talons. Her way of ruining any romance was to play one off against the other. A snide remark or a comment about her son incautiously dropped behind his back – ‘Oh, sorry, dear, I shouldn’t have said that, but . . .’ all conspired to nip every potential romance in the bud before it had a chance to blossom. Having got her darling son back twice she was determined not to lose him again. Not knowing this, Dick blamed himself. His feelings of inadequacy grew stronger, which meant he had to prove his manhood more and more fiercely . . . until he became a legend in dressing-room gossip!
      Whatever demons were after him in his own life, Dick was always keen to help a friend. A couple of months after he started at the Windmill, he was taking a breather in the street between shows one afternoon, when he bumped into Tony Hancock, whom he hadn’t seen for several weeks. Tony was wearing a jacket, trousers, a tie - but no shirt! His chest gleamed bare in the afternoon sun. Under one arm he carried something wrapped up in newspaper.
      After the initial embrace and backslapping, Dick said: ‘Where are you off too?’ Hesitantly, Hancock confessed he was trying to find someone he could borrow money from to do his laundry, including the shirt that was in the newspaper bundle.
      Dick reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of pound notes. He pressed them into his friend’s hand.
      ‘It’s only money,’ he said.
Dick Emery - as told to Fay Hillier

If that's wetted your appetite, and I'm sure it has, then either go out and buy yourself a copy, or borrow one from your local library, to read more. This book, being published in 2001, is still available to buy - although you may have to order your copy. You may even find it second-hand if you look hard enough. See below for more details.

This is the only publication of this particular book, at the moment. It, as mentioned elsewhere, dates from: 2001. More details below:

1st, Sidgwick & Jackson Ltd, hardback, published in 2001

Depending on how well the above hardback sells, and I hope it does really well, will eventually dictate whether it's published in paperback. Watch this space for more info...

This is the only book (biography) you can buy that tells the story (as told by Dick to Fay Hillier) of the late great Dick Emery. After reading it recently I can highly recommend it. The book revealed, and to which I found most surprising, that he lived just around the corner from me during his childhood years. He also went to a school, which I many decades later, attended Sunday school! I have very fond memories of the later Dick Emery shows, when they were originally broadcast on the BBC way back in the 70s, and indeed still look forward to the repeats when they appear on TV occasionally today. My favourite characterisation was of Lampwick - which the book discloses was also Dick's - which also turned out to be another nice surprise for me. He was a great comic impersonator and actor - the best - in my humble opinion, and as I'd already imagined, and the book confirms, was a lovely man in real life.

 

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