Male vocalists were usually besuited in black velvets, bow tie, frilly shirt and had perms which were very trendy - an example set by Doncaster footballer Kevin Keegan! Most would sing the hits of the day, but opera and the repertoire of Mario Lanza were also heard across the WMCs. Country and western acts seemed to be popular. It wasn’t unusual for me to share the bill as a ‘Singer of Songs from the Shows’ with those bedecked in bejewelled, fringed white jackets and Stetsons. No one seemed to think it strange that we were on the same bill. In one area of South Yorkshire, a man would ride on horseback regularly through the pit village in Stetson and full John Wayne regalia and tether his horse up prior to entering the Miners’ Welfare. The sense of camaraderie and commonality was very strong. Many acts from the Doncaster area travelled up to do a circuit in the North East or Scotland, and the fact that we all came from the same area with the same aims to entertain and earn a living was heart-warming and reassuring. When performances did not, for a variety of reasons, turn out as we would have wished, there was always a shoulder to cry on. The variety circuit was a microcosm, a fully intergenerational, integrated society which reflected the area’s diversity. There were disabled vocal performers with strong singing voices who found gainful enjoyable employment alongside able-bodied members. The live musicians who supported the vocalists were very much a part of that variety, and are something that I feel is sorely missed. The buzz of playing with live musicians can never be replicated by using tapes. The live musicians, even if they were not the best on the circuit, acted as a bridge between the performer and the regular club audience and concert secretary. Working with them was always good preparation for other work: TV or radio shows, theatre performances. You became experienced at working with a variety of styles and in dealing with different personalities. You were able to express yourself with a piece of music and to change the mood to suit the audience. Although I’m not a great fan of the TV-based talent show genre, I do like ‘Britain’s got Talent’! How refreshing to see that audiences still crave diversity on stage. Doesn’t it just show that so many people have a desire to work on (what they perceive as) their talent, however bizarre it may seem to others, in order to entertain, move and encourage laughter in their fellow man. I had an Aunty who had a hotel in Skegness and who had ‘turns’ staying with her. I sang ‘Windmill in old Amsterdam’ with the Ronnie Hilton in her bar when I was nine or ten.
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I watched the fire-eaters practise in her garden, avoiding her potentially inflammable poodles that were ever-present. I stayed after the variety show finished, watching acrobats cooling down after their performances. I think my Mum, on reflection, was rather relieved that I could sing, but it was always about performing for me, and the WMCs gave me an incredible start and the confidence for tackling not only other venues, after my time in the clubs, but life itself. Crikey, until I’d written this, I’d not really thought in those terms, but as I suggested at the beginning, Variety was OFF as well as ON stage, and it seems it is true. Thank gawd!
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The memory act had a blackboard, and she’d get somebody to write on the back of the blackboard, the name of a dog or whatever the capital of Yugoslavia was at the time. She’d stand in front of the blackboard, and she wouldn’t be allowed round the back, and her partner would write down what was said. She used to say, ‘Dog,’ and people were like, ‘Wow, they got that right. How did they get that?’ There was some kind of contact between her and her partner. It was a 60 merry act, but it was a con.
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