One of my first producers was to be the main get-away driver on the Great train robbery. Unfortunately for him he was arrested the day before, for burglary of a shop in East Finchley. The producer in question was the legendary Syd Golder.
In the early eighties I was asked to act in the play ‘Revenge’ by Howard Brenton, at the Spice of life theatre club. (Subsequently transferring to the Finborough pub theatre). The director said to me, “I think you’ll like Syd. He’s not one of the ‘arty farty types’ you meet at drama school”. He sure wasn’t.
Syd was abandoned by his mother and father, more or less at birth, and began his criminal career robbing pubs. By the age of six he was sent to the work-house. At eleven he was in a borstal. (Where interestingly enough he met Brendan Behan.) After the Second World War he became a much admired cat burglar (much admired by those in the criminal fraternity!) and took part in numerous burglaries and bank robberies. He told me, enormously proudly, that throughout his career he never used a gun.
Up until 1972 he was in and out of some of the most notorious prisons in the country. Then, by a bit of a fluke, he went ‘straight’. This came about through his being taken on by RADA as a handyman. His passion for theatre exploded. Which is how I came to meet him at ‘The Spice of Life theatre club’. The subject matter of Brenton’s play ‘Revenge’ was that of a petty criminal trying to get his own back ‘on the establishment’. It was a theme that appealed to Syd.
The company was led by that wonderful character actor Benjamin Whitrow
–probably best known for playing Mr Bennet in the classic BBC ‘Pride and Prejudice’. He told me a nice story about the film star Rex Harrison. They were doing a Shakespeare play together. Rex was a tyrant and the whole company were both awed and terrified of him. One night Ben’s chain of office got tangled with Rex’s. Rex was totally oblivious. Ben was too afraid to tell the great man what had happened. He just followed Rex upstage, trying to disentangle himself.
Rex said, "stop following me about Whitrow". And then walked downstage, taking Ben with him. "Look Whitrow"
said Rex, in a stage whisper, "if you follow me again I shall have you fired from the company". Ben began stuttering, as Rex walked upstage; with Ben in tow. Suddenly Rex realised what was happening, leaned into the wings, got a pair of scissors and cut himself free. Then he declaimed, for all and sundry to hear, "for your sycophancy Carlisle, thou deservest deeply of this". And proceeded to whack Ben about.
Fast forward some twenty five years and I was directing my first play on the pub theatre circuit. This was Carl Sternheim’s ‘The Knickers’
in a new translation by that American all round genius Steve Martin. It was presented at the Old Red Lion pub theatre, in Islington.
The company was led by Owen Brenman
(who was to go on to be a lead in a daytime soap) and Dolly Wells
(who has now become something of a Hollywood star.) Rehearsals went well- I’ve been in plays where you really can’t say that- and the reviews were overwhelmingly kind. But on the first night I and my producer, Amanda Oppe, were caught totally on the hop. One of our main sponsors was a lingerie chain. At the end of the performance the aforesaid sponsor approached us with, I thought, a few kind words. Instead she launched into a tirade about her ‘knickers’ not being given a high enough profile. Needless to say we squirmed and gave her ‘knickers’ much more attention during the rest of the run.
That lovely actor Graeme Eton
played the part of ‘the old man’ for me and told me a tale which I so want to be true! It involved the friendship between the great Tommy Cooper
and the French playwright Eugene Ionesco.
For the younger of our esteemed readers let me say that Tommy was a much loved comedian. His timing was impeccable. He was famous for his one liners such as: “I had a ploughman’s lunch the other day. He wasn’t very happy.” And a magic act that invariably went wrong. (You have to be a terribly good magician to pull this ‘trick’ off.) During the 60s and 70s he was one of the highest paid entertainers in the United Kingdom.
Ionesco needs little introduction. Save to say one of his plays, ‘The Bald Prima Donna’, has been running in Paris continually since 1957. Tommy was too famous to use the houses of ‘ill repute’ in Soho, so his friend Eugene introduced him to the ones in Paris. Tommy was often to be seen at the first nights of Eugene’s plays. And Ionesco reciprocated going to many of the clubs that Tommy performed in.
Ionesco was given a state funeral by the French Government in the Cathedral at Notre Dame. Madame Ionesco (Eugene’s daughter) asked Tommy to say a few words. Tommy rumbled, “of course”. So in that austere setting Tommy dragged a ‘props’ basket up to the pulpit and proceeded to give the ‘hats’ routine. (This is enormously difficult to describe but it can be found on ‘YouTube’). At the end there was total silence. Tommy thought everything had gone wrong. And then suddenly there was an eruption of clapping and cheering from the congregation. I have a feeling Ionesco would have liked that.
The mention of ‘props’ brings me back to Syd Golder. ‘Revenge’ transferred to the Finborough theatre. The company were extremely excited. Syd had been very unhappy with me and my use of the ‘hand-cuffs’. (I was playing a ‘young copper’.) During the re-rehearsal period he showed me how to hand-cuff a villain properly; and very importantly how to get the cuffs off quickly.
Then one afternoon, after a matinee, Syd stopped me and said, "Richard I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine".
At that moment I remembered many of Syd’s ‘friends’: the Kray twins, Jack ‘the hat’ McVitie and the Richardson gang, to name but a few. “This”, said Syd, “is Frankie Fraser”. My legs had gone to pieces-as had my waterworks- and I blurted out, “ ‘Mad’ Frankie Fraser?” “That’s right Richard”, said Syd, “although Frankie has never liked the term ‘mad’ very much”. I stared at this very frightening looking man, for what seemed an age. I was petrified. He stared back. I thought of telling Frankie I was ‘an effete luvvie’, but I thought this might annoy him even more. I knew Frankie had a penchant for the use of knives. I thought to myself, what a way to meet my maker, in the foyer of the Finborough pub theatre. Then suddenly he said, “enjoyed the play. You were very good. Made me laugh”.