LAUREL and HARDY – The British Tours
What they said:
I am delighted to have a copy of your wonderful book. It is an absolute joy to read. (KEN DODD - comedy star)
The book is superb – a veritable treasure-trove of fascinating insights and anecdotes. (PETER GOODWRIGHT – former TV, Radio, and Theatre comedy star)
This book is a must for theatregoers weaned on the music halls, as they will revel in the wealth of theatrical detail recorded. (WORDS & MUSIC)
... it certainly is required reading, not only by Laurel and Hardy fans, but anyone interested in the British Variety theatre. (BIRMINGHAM POST)
All fans of Laurel and Hardy will relish this meticulous, wonderfully researched book, and learn in the process about the vanished variety stage and the pleasure it brought to us all in the days before television. (GRIMSBY EVENING TELEGRAPH)
Mr Marriot has produced an awesomely researched book which is absolutely unmissable for any Laurel and Hardy devotee. (MOVIE COLLECTOR)
I think you get more of a sense of them as people than from any other of the Laurel and Hardy books. (PEPPER BOOKS – California)
It made me laugh and made me cry. How strange to have such strong feelings about two people I never met, but then your book brought them alive. What more could one wish for? (TANIA M. EDWARDS – London)
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LAUREL and HARDY – The British Tours
by
“A.J” Marriot
First published by Marriot Publishing – November 1993
This edition published by:
MARRIOT PUBLISHING at SMASHWORDS (January 2012)
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LAUREL
& HARDY – The British Tours is available in print.
ISBN:
978-0-9521308-0-2
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When my good friend Roy Sims – expert on Laurel and Hardy memorabilia – started to turn up ephemera which showed that the Hollywood film comedians Laurel and Hardy had made stage appearances in Britain, I began to ask questions which neither he nor any other Laurel and Hardy scholars could answer. Turning to the authoritative biographical works on the comedy duo I was further frustrated by their lack of coverage on these tours.
Determined to seek out exactly when and where Laurel and Hardy had played their theatre engagements, I began to do research. The deeper I went, the bigger the mystery became. Why hadn’t Laurel and Hardy’s tours been documented by their biographers? Why didn’t people want to talk about the tours? Was something being hidden? Had Laurel and Hardy wanted to forget about the tours?
They were the greatest comedy double act in film history, and two of the most famous figures in the world.
What the heck were they doing on the British Variety stage? Read on to discover the whole story.
Bit by bit, I began to piece together their movements over in Britain, and contacted several acts who had worked with them. A handful of acts were helpful in the extreme, but the majority of enquiries were disappointing. Four people who could have solved the great, untold mysteries of the British tours – Stan and Ida Laurel, and Oliver and Lucille Hardy – were sadly departed from this world, long before my research began.
It was then that newspapers became a great source of information. Newspapers were also invaluable in providing reliable dates, along with interesting comments and theatre reviews. Personal accounts often become embellished or distorted over the years, whereas the contemporary viewpoints in newspapers remain unaltered – hence the prominence of quotations from this medium, within this book. In most cases, those articles thought to contain inaccuracies or fabrication have been commented upon and corrected, where possible.
This book, as a story, is not complete, and never could be – not even if the original manuscript, which was twice as long as this book, had been published. It is meant only to supply details of the theatres at which Laurel and Hardy played; the hotels at which they stayed; the acts with whom they worked; some of the people they met, the functions they attended; their modes of transport; and the impact they made on the British public, both off-stage and on, during the British tours.
After hearing many myths and rumours, and very little else, about Laurel and Hardy’s British tours, readers will, I hope, find the information they are looking for within these pages, and get as much fun out of reading it as I got out of researching it.
“A.J” Marriot
When asked to write this foreword, I was only too happy to be able to pay my respects to two comedians who have always held a special place in my affections. Watching the films of Laurel & Hardy was a staple part of my boyhood years, and one of the most enjoyable. Little did I realise that in later years, when their film career was finished, I would be able to repay the loyalty and devotion I felt, by inviting them to play in British Theatre. What followed exceeded everyone’s expectations, and lifted both our careers.
Sadly, within a few years of adapting so successfully to this medium, they were forced by illness to withdraw, and the British public were denied further opportunity to see, in the flesh, the world’s two most fascinating funny men. Fate, though, had decreed that I play one more part in ensuring that they weren’t readily forgotten.
Whilst over in New York, on a business trip, I was approached by the producers of the American TV programme, This is Your Life. It was November 1954, and Laurel and Hardy were by now “resting”, and living their separate lives. Ralph Edwards, the show’s host, wanted the two comedians to be his next subjects, so needed an excuse to get them together without suspicion being raised. Knowing of my past relationship with the Boys, the production team hit upon the idea that I should phone Stan and Babe individually, inform them I was in town, and invite them to the Knickerbocker Hotel.
On December 1st, the plan was put into operation and the comedy duo were surprised by a camera crew, and a voice-over from Ralph Edwards announcing: “Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy – This is Your Life.”
Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy were two lovable, gentle men, and to have been instrumental in increasing the amount of time they were able to impart laughter to their legion of adoring fans was indeed a time of great pride for me. “A.J” Marriot has excellently documented these years, and in reading the book I was reminded of the many happy hours spent in the wonderful company of these two comedians. They are sadly missed by all who had the honour and pleasure to meet them or see them working live, but within these pages is captured the spirit of those times.
Lord Bernard Delfont
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Chapter 1 – A Lot of Fun (1925-1932)
Chapter 2 – A Few Weeks’ Golfing and Fishing (1932 Tour pt1)
Chapter 3 – Scotland For the Brave (1932 Tour pt2)
Chapter 4 – My Son, My Son (1932 Tour pt3)
Chapter 5 – The Worm Turns (1932-46)
Chapter 6 – Capital Ventures (1947 Tour pt1)
Chapter 7 – A Little Wisdom (1947 Tour pt2)
Chapter 8 – Oliver-Stan in Ulverston (1947 Tour pt3)
Chapter 9 – Stannie, Where’s Ye’ Troosers? (1947 Tour pt4)
Chapter 10 – Holidays are Jollidays (1947 Tour pt5)
Chapter 11 – Double Trouble (1947 Tour pt6)
Chapter 12 – A Right Royal Do (1947-48 and 1950-51 European Tours)
Chapter 13 – Where Has All the Slapstick Gone? (1951 pt2 – 1952 Tour pt 1)
Chapter 14 – Highlands, Islands, Ireland (1952 Tour pt2)
Chapter 15 – Southend, Southport, South Wales (1952 Tour pt3)
Chapter 16 – Colour Them Blue (1953-54 Tour pt1)
Chapter 17 – We Are the Sons of the Desert (1953-54 Tour pt2)
Chapter 18 – Santa and Holly (The 1953-54 Tour pt3)
Chapter 19 – Keep Right On (The 1953-54 Tour pt4)
Chapter 20 – The Last Farewell (Epilogue)
THE END
On 3 June 1954 two ageing comedians went unnoticed as they waved goodbye to England from the stern of a ship bound for America. The skinny, red-haired one had first made a similar journey over forty years earlier, and, watching the shoreline fast disappearing, could not help but reflect on the intervening years – years that had seen him rise from a struggling music-hall artiste, to one of the world's best-loved film comedians. This accolade was shared by the huge man standing at his side – his inseparable business partner for the last twenty-eight years.
In 1932, almost at the peak of their film career, the two had popped over to England for a supposed holiday; but, between leaving home and getting back, were under continuous siege from massive crowds of delirious fans. Fifteen years later came a return to Britain, to work in the variety theatre – the medium in which the skinny one had learned the basics of his trade. This visit too had people turning out in their thousands just to see them “in person.” In the early nineteen-fifties, two more British tours had followed, but the status of the two stars had diminished, and the public's urge to fight and jostle to see them was limited to the front rows of theatres.
To understand why these two world-renowned comedians – both now in their sixties, and of ailing health – had gone from making films in America to working in British theatres, we must first go back to the Hal Roach Studios, in Culver City, California, USA, in the mid nineteen twenties:
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Oliver Norvell Hardy commenced work at the Hal Roach Studios in January 1925, three months before Stan Laurel. Roach had brought in Hardy to play supporting roles to other comedians on the Roach Lot (nicknamed by its employees “The Lot of Fun”) including: Charley Chase, Frank Butler, Clyde Cook, Max Davidson, James Finlayson, Glenn Tryon, Mabel Normand, Theda Bara, and the ‘Our Gang’ kids. Laurel, meanwhile, wasn’t even in front of the camera, despite his having made several successful solo films from as far back as 1917. He had been taken on by Roach purely as a writer and gag-man, a position he was happy to be in as, at the time, he didn’t really rate himself as a film comedian. Laurel’s interests soon spread to all aspects of film production, for which he was rewarded by being trained as a director. One year on and Stan had co-directed a handful of films, including three with Oliver Hardy – who was by then under contract with Roach.
One day in June 1926 Hardy was unable to turn up for filming, having badly scalded his arm at home, while basting a leg of lamb he was roasting. Hal Roach, unable to find an immediate stand-in, pitched Laurel into the role. Liking Stan’s contribution to the finished film, Get ’Em Young, Roach gave him the go-ahead to write himself a part in the next picture. Hardy had by then recovered sufficiently to return, whereupon the two of them inadvertently appeared in the same film. For Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy, the wheels had been set in motion. It was now only a matter of time!
Further films ensued in which the two of them appeared, until, by a process of almost “natural selection,” the potential of playing them against one another was spotted and exploited. Come July 1927 the screen partnership of ‘Laurel & Hardy’ was considered bankable enough for them to be launched as a major comic force. Before the plan could be put into action, however, the Roach Studios broke for their annual summer holidays. Babe and his wife Myrtle went on a long sea voyage, sailing from Los Angeles to Havana, Cuba. Stan chose to go to England, which he hadn’t visited since leaving in October 1912 with the Karno Company.
On 2 July 1927 Laurel sailed from New York on the White Star liner the Homeric. After disembarking in Southampton, seven days later, Stan travelled to London, where he went to spend a few days with his father, who was then living in Ealing, West London. Next he journeyed north to Grantham, Lincolnshire, to see his sister, Beatrice Olga. Although staying at the George Hotel in High Street, Stan arranged to have tea with Olga, a little further down High Street, at the Palace café. However, the power of film soon caught up with him, in the form of the many filmgoers who recognised him, and stayed around to gawp. Soon a crowd had gathered and so, being unable to deal with the increasing demands for handshakes and autographs, the lowly English comic turned Hollywood film star decided it would be safer to retire to the hotel.
With Stan on the trip was his wife Lois, whom he had married as recently as 23 August 1926. Pressure of his film work had prevented the newly-married couple from taking a proper honeymoon, so they took this opportunity to have one now, and, on 14 July flew from Croydon Airport to Paris, where they spent the next thirteen days. Honeymoon over, it was time to head home for which, on 27 July, Stan and Lois boarded the White Star liner the Majestic, at the French port of Cherbourg.
Although this was, for Laurel, an obvious “holiday/come family reunion/come honeymoon,” he had very cleverly sold the idea to Hal Roach of it being a scouting mission to find new comedy material, and new ideas for comedy films, for which Roach subsequently paid his expenses. One of the earliest Laurel & Hardy films, Duck Soup, was actually adapted from a stage sketch, Home From the Honeymoon, written by Stan’s father, Arthur Jefferson in 1906. Using this as a lever, Stan had somehow convinced Roach that it was well worth his paying a visit to Mr. Jefferson to see if he had any more suitable scripts which could be adapted. How Laurel got this past Roach, when it was so obvious he was going to see his father anyway, brings Roach’s usually shrewd business qualities in to question – especially when one considers, using hindsight, that not one more line of script was forthcoming from Arthur Jefferson. And how Stan got Roach to pay for his honeymoon to Paris, makes Roach seem even more gullible – even if Laurel managed to manufacture a tie-in with Home From the Honeymoon (the name of Arthur Jefferson’s original script) to the Laurels coming home from their honeymoon.
More good news for Laurel was that, during the period he had been enjoying an all-expenses-paid holiday, Hal Roach had signed a distribution deal with the film company Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. This was a great move on so many levels. Roach’s previous distributor’s task was to get picture-house managers to take his films. MGM, however, had their own vast, magnificent and numerous venues, and would be more than willing to give extra finance to Roach to produce quality films to be shown in them. The deal was to commence on 1 September, which meant that Hats Off, the first Laurel & Hardy short to be shot after Laurel’s return to L.A. (on or around 7 August), benefitted greatly from the might of MGM’s publicity machine. This Roach-MGM combination launch was comparable to that given for a major feature film, in which every device – from billboards; advertising balloons; trucks with posters pasted on their sides, posters in stores; and even a parade outside the cinema – was employed; and seemed to be making a statement to the film world that: “Laurel & Hardy are here – and here to stay.”
“Hats Off” – the film in which ‘the Boys’ (the characters of ‘Stan and Ollie’) are salesmen, trying to sell a washing machine to a potential buyer who lives at the top of a long, steep flight of steps – was a great vehicle with which to promote them as a newly formed team, as almost everything which makes up the characters of the Boys can be found in this film. There’s only one problem – THE FILM can’t be found! Amazingly, although it probably had more prints made than any other L&H film to date, there is no known copy in existence.
The newly established screen double-act pushed on through 1928 – making such silent classics as Putting Pants On Philip, Leave 'Em Laughing, The Finishing Touch, From Soup to Nuts, Their Purple Moment, Two Tars, Liberty, Wrong Again, and That’s My Wife – to the third week in December 1928, where we find them making their finest silent film, Big Business.
In November 1928 the first “talkie” had hit the screens (Al Jolson’s The Jazz Singer), but it was only over the Christmas break of 1928-29 when sound equipment came to be installed at the Hal Roach Studios. When Laurel and Hardy went back to work in January 1929, the sound equipment was still not fully up and running, so they continued making “silents” – Double Whoopee, Bacon Grabbers, and Angora Love. It was the last week in March before the first Laurel & Hardy talkie was made, Unaccustomed As We Are. Next came two more talkies, Berth Marks and Men O’ War, with time taken out to film cameo roles in the MGM extravaganza Hollywood Revue of 1929.
In June 1929, and by now having achieved celebrity status, Stan and Babe were included among a list of Hollywood A-listers who were invited to the opening of the newly-built Fox Theatre, San Francisco – the major stars being Marion Davies, Janet Gaynor, Wallace Beery, Joan Crawford and Douglas Fairbanks, Jr.; Will Rogers, Loretta Young, Buster Keaton, Lupe Velez, Harry Langdon, and Charley Chase.
The San Francisco Chronicle described part of the opening night as follows:
Then came Will Rogers to introduce the stars. Waves of laughter swept the mighty throng as he brought each dainty beauty across the big stage, or escorted each broad-shouldered man star to take his bow. His comments on each, and their smiling replies, raised chuckles to guffaws, and thunders of applause swept the theatre as the audience paid tribute to their favourites.
The line-up was followed by Fanchon and Marco’s California Capers, which had a company of two hundred artistes. Then at 9.30 the audience watched the world premiere of the film Behind That Curtain. The whole presentation was enhanced by the sounds of a forty-piece orchestra, and a fifty-voice choir.
(San Antonio Light – 2 July 1929)
The Fox Theatre event is pretty significant as, just five months after the opening, Laurel and Hardy chose to chance their arm and partake in such a programme of “LIVE” entertainment, mixed with the screening of a film. They were to be featured not just as the characters on the screen, but also as live entertainers. This was an extremely risky gamble. First question that had to be asked was: “Could Laurel and Hardy cut it as live performers?” Being the main attraction, they would have to justify the admission fee which the several thousand patrons would be paying to see them over the six-day, four-shows-daily appearances. If Laurel and Hardy failed, the two years of hard work they had put into building their reputation as the funniest screen double-act could be destroyed overnight.
The contemporary reviews inform us how they fared:
The crowds yesterday at the Fox Theater were very probably attracted by the promise of seeing those deliciously droll fellows, Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy, but they had much else to be thankful for. There is a good “crook and detective” picture The Girl From Havana, plus a Laurel and Hardy screen comedy, They Go Boom, which will make you laugh even if you have the toothache.
But it was, really it was, Laurel and Hardy in the flesh that everybody waited for, and howled over. They are funny fellows, and they do a lot of rough-housing, so much that, when they finish, Rube Wolf is in his union suit, their director James Parrott, is minus coat, shirt, porus-plaster and waistcoat: a man in the audience is stripped of his clothes in the aisle and thrown into the orchestra pit, and both Stan and Ollie have barely enough clothing to keep within the law.
Their act is a riot of laughs. Perhaps they are just a bit funnier, this pair of rowdy comedians, in the picture than they are on the stage.
Maybe it was a mistake to play them against themselves. “They Go Boom” is tremendously funny.
(San Francisco Chronicle – Saturday 23 November 1929)
The risk of doing the live show had probably been taken to make a quick buck, after both Stan and Babe had lost all their investments in the recent Wall Street Crash (“Black Tuesday” – 29 October 1929). It would be several years before the experience would used doing further live stage shows, but that was a sideline they could do without for now, as there was still many more classic comedy films to be made.
Fast forward to 21 July 1932, and Laurel and Hardy’s film credits to date numbered around thirty-three silents, thirty shorts (if one includes cameos in other films), and two features – Pardon Us, and Pack Up Your Troubles. It was time to take a well-earned break.
It had been five years since Stan had last since his dad, and so for him to choose to use the Roach Studios break to visit England again, was an obvious choice. What was far from obvious was that Babe Hard, who could have taken his holidays anywhere in the world, chose to go with Laurel. This speaks volumes for the high regard the two partners had for one another. After all, they had side by side at the studios for those five years, and even attended public and private show business events outside the studio, so one could be forgiven for thinking that the last thing they would want to do would be to go on holiday together. But Hardy was also proud of the fact that his ancestors were British. So, as he was fond of the British, and Britain in general, his desire to go there was increased. That Britain boasted many fine golf courses also had some bearing on the matter.
Babe decided to have his wife Myrtle accompany him, in the hope of saving their eleven year marriage. He had been having an affair with an attractive divorcee by the name of Viola Morse, so thought the vacation might help to patch things up. Stan, though, left his wife Lois at home, insisting: “She doesn’t like crowds and travelling, and is not over strong, so preferred not to make the trip.” The truth was that Laurel’s marriage was also on the rocks, and Lois could not face the ordeal of making the trip in order to keep up appearances.
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CHAPTER 2 – A Few Weeks’ Golfing and Fishing
As Stan and Babe understood it, the trip was purely a social call to the “Old Country,” where they could take in a few weeks of golfing and fishing. The film company MGM (who released the Laurel & Hardy films) had different ideas, though. Having, themselves, drawn up the travel plan for their rising comedy stars, they organised around it a massive publicity campaign, in both Britain and America. Consequently, when Laurel and Hardy came to change trains at Chicago, on their four day train journey from California to New York City, thousands of fans and photographers confronted them. The comedian first thought was that there was someone in an adjacent compartment whom the crowd were seeking but, when the mob continued to clamour more and more for attention, it soon become frighteningly obvious that this wasn’t the case.
Wanting to get away from the situation as quickly as possible, Stan and Babe fought their way through the swarm, to catch their connection for New York City. Once on the train, they had much cause to speculate as to the reason for the recent scene and, in the end, may well have dismissed it as a publicity stunt manufactured by MGM to raise interest in the release of their latest film. The reason Laurel and Hardy couldn’t believe all the adulation was for them was that, as far as they were concerned, all they had done for the last five years was make short, supporting films for the main cinema features. In the Hollywood star system this meant they didn’t shine very brightly. The public, though, had other views.
Convinced that the nightmare reception was over, Stan and Babe settled back and thought only of enjoying the peacefulness of the British countryside, and the hospitality of its people. Little did they know that their nightmare had just begun, and the likes of the reception at Chicago were to be repeated at every stop. Mob number two, on New York Broadway, was even bigger. The press were out in force, and the presence of the two newly-discovered stars, plus the newsreel cameras, whipped the crowd to a point of hysteria, and it was with a great deal of assistance from members of the New York Police Force that Laurel and Hardy were able to board the Cunard liner the Aquitania, and set sail for England.
Boarding ship did not afford them instant relief, as they still had to contend with the attentions of the two-thousand-plus passengers and crew – as did fellow travellers Douglas Fairbanks Jr. and his wife, Joan Crawford. After repeated appeals from the captain for the celebrities to be left alone, Babe came out of enforced isolation, and joined in with ship’s entertainment. Amongst other invites, he accepted one to view the ship’s engines, and another to referee a boxing match. Stan however declined the two, and seldom came out of his cabin.
In one incident Babe almost regretted, for life, popping out of his cabin – well, popping his head out, at least. He related:
Near Cherbourg I heard a noise above my cabin. I put my head out of a porthole to see what was amiss, and a heavy weight came down about three inches from my head. If it had caught me, I don’t know what would have happened. At first I thought it was one of Stan’s tricks, but the incident was too serious to be funny. It turned out that it was a depth-weight being lowered. It frightened me very much at the time.
On 23 July 1932, the Aquitania arrived at Southampton, England, to be greeted by the unbelievable and totally unexpected sight and sound of thousands of waving, cheering fans – whistling Laurel & Hardy’s signature tune – The Cuckoo Song. [Some know it as “The KuKu Song,” others by the arrangement “The Dance of the Cuckoos,” but the most favoured is “The Cuckoo Song.” Stan himself said in Ideas and Town Talk: “We call it “The Cuckoo Song.” I don’t think it boasts a name really.”]
Whilst the crowd were showing their delight, and confetti was falling like snow, Laurel was running up and down the passenger deck shouting, “Where’s mi dad?” Hardy, meanwhile, was regaling some of the dozens of pressmen who had swarmed aboard with stories of their exploits on board the Aquitania. These began: “I’ll be glad when I can get Stan off this boat. I have had a terrible time with him, you know ...”
Shortly, Laurel returned to his partner’s side, dragging with him an elderly, nattily-dressed gentleman. “Babe, meet Dad,” said Stan. A.J. introduced the party to Venetia – his second wife and Stan’s stepmother. Also in the party were Dr. & Ethel Falconar, friends of Lois Laurel, who were to remain with them throughout the holiday.
Laurel’s step-mother, Venetia, Stan Laurel, Arthur Jefferson Sr., Babe Hardy, Myrtle Hardy
Whilst the comedians were still on board, the Sunday Post recorded the following quotes: “After our holiday,” said Hardy, “we go back to Hollywood to complete our contract, which still has about two years to run.” Then contradicting a statement he had made only a minute earlier, Hardy continued:
Stan has behaved perfectly on the voyage. He is a thorough little gentleman and the finest fellow in the world. Since 1927 [sic] when we first started to work together, we have never had a cross word.
Although the part of this statement concerning Stan’s behaviour was said very tongue-in-cheek, the latter part, extolling Stan’s human qualities, was straight from the heart, and Babe meant every word of it. Stan returned the compliment in an equally sincere manner: “Ollie is the kindest man I know. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. It’s a pleasure to work with him”.
On the dock, Laurel was given an invitation, on behalf of the Mayor of Tynemouth, for him and his partner to be guests at a civic lunch, during their forthcoming visit to Tyneside. He sent the reply:
I shall be happy to accept it, I am looking forward tremendously to renewing acquaintance with Tyneside. I have almost forgotten what it looks like, but not quite. I expect that when I go there I shall remember people and places where I spent happy times in years gone by. I shall be delighted to be in North Shields again.
Laurel also sent a message via the Sunday Sun, to all his friends in the North East.
By the time you are reading this I shall be home! Only those who have been away from England for years realise how the Old Country tugs at the heart-strings. No matter how happy, how successful, you may be in new surroundings, your thoughts go back longingly to the friends you left behind. You want to see the old places and old faces again. I have kept in touch with several of my old friends in the North Country, and I am looking forward keenly to seeing the changes and developments that have taken place in the long years I have been absent. With me, of course, comes my great friend and great comedian Oliver Hardy.
Whilst the VIPs were in customs, Hardy was informed that the Minister of Labour had forbidden him to undertake “any form of employment – paid or unpaid,” during his stay in England. The decision was quickly over-ridden, after the intervention of Sam Eckman, Managing Director of MGM London Pictures, who was on hand to take care of such formalities. Had he not been, Babe could not have made any personal appearances. Had he known how events would turn out in the next forty-eight hours, he would have prayed that permission be denied.
Having satisfied the pressmen, and the customs officials, Laurel and Hardy now had to fight their way through the ever-demanding crowd to board the train for London. Amidst further cheering, flag waving and confetti throwing, the train finally managed to pull out of Southampton docks, one hour late. Arriving at Waterloo station, they were met by a similar scene to the one at Southampton, with over a thousand pairs of lips whistling “The Cuckoo Song.” With forty pressmen moving in to take shots, and the crowd getting pushier and pushier, Stan exclaimed:
What a reception. I never imagined anything like this. If my old friends in the North Country are only half as enthusiastic, I shall be thoroughly happy.
One would have thought that Stan would have known exactly what the crowd scenes would have been like. After all, he had been mobbed in Grantham during his visit there in 1927, when he had had been barely known. Now he was returning not only as Hollywood star, but with the added attraction of his screen comedy partner by his side.
Taken at Waterloo Station, showing the crush Laurel and Hardy had to fight their way through.
Four hundred porters had volunteered for duty that day at Waterloo Station but, even so, the pressure of the crowd was so great that the two comedians became separated. Hardy couldn’t figure out how it happened. He said he just climbed into a taxi, and arrived at the Savoy where only the hall porter was on hand to greet him. By the time Laurel arrived, and the confusion was resolved, there was no time for them to rest and freshen up before giving the press reception – arranged by MGM. Special interest was held by those newsmen in attendance from the places Laurel and Hardy were expected to visit: Tynemouth, Newcastle, Edinburgh, Glasgow, Birmingham, Blackpool, Leeds, Sheffield, Liverpool, Hull, and Manchester. Asked if they had any business commitments in England, Laurel said, “No, but we do intend to study audiences with a view to catering for them in future films.” (There goes Laurel’s second attempt to get some travel expenses out of Hal Roach.)
With the reporters gone, Laurel and Hardy were able to get to their hotel rooms, to change. After dinner in the Savoy restaurant they retired; Babe to rest, and Stan to talk to his dad, and his sister Olga and her husband – who had now joined the party.
The following day, Sunday 24 July 1947, a Daily Herald reporter found the Jeffersons in Stan’s room at the Savoy, still reminiscing:
‘Come in and join the family party,’ said Stan greeting him with a broad smile. ‘I’ve been waiting for this reunion for five years, saving up all I had to say, and we haven’t got past the old times yet. Ollie the great old scout has shuffled off and left us to it. He went to see the ‘Changing of the Guard’ this morning. They must have heard he was coming and were afraid he might get up to something, ‘cos they didn’t have it,’ he announced, and his peel of laughter bounced off the ceiling. ‘So he’s gone to the Cheshire Cheese [a public house in Fleet Street, frequented by journalists] to have a few cheeses. Reckon he’s full of - er - cheese by now.’
As the afternoon tea-party continued, the reporter was replaced by one from the Daily Sketch, who recorded the conversation as follows:
‘As for the boy, well ...’, said Mr Jefferson, then after a while, ‘A good boy. A very good boy. Success hasn’t spoiled him. It’s something to say that.’
‘He’s still the same kid,’ said his sister. The boy hung his head modestly.
‘Seems to me,’ said Jefferson, ‘that comedians are born, not made.’
‘You said a lot, dad,’ said the boy.
‘I always go to see him in the pictures,’ Mr Jefferson added. ‘In our home in Shields in the old days I could see he had something in him. Always being funny, he was. So I made him a little theatre in the attic. Spent the day there, he and his sister Olga. Well what I say is, what’s bred in the bone ...’
Here, the account ends. The amusing observation about this conversation is the way the reporter punctuates it by referring to Stan as “the boy” – he was forty-two at the time. Later that evening, Stan and Babe accepted an invitation to go and watch Noel Coward’s performance in his play, Cavalcade, at the Drury Lane Theatre. In a letter written some years later to a fan, Stan revealed:
I think I told you previously that I visited Drury Lane, that was ’32. saw Noel Coward’s stage production of ‘Cavalcade’, that too is a wonderful memory – sitting in the actual Royal Box with the powdered wig dept. in attendance.
But, at the end of the performance of Cavalcade, it wasn’t the writer and star of the play who was given a standing ovation by the packed house, but the two lowly comedians sitting in the Royal Box. Noel Coward wasn’t at all put out by the two guests receiving the accolades, and further extended his hospitality by throwing a private party for them backstage, at which their fellow passengers on the voyage over, Doug & Joan [Crawford] Fairbanks, were also guests.
Monday’s Evening Standard contained an advert for the Empire Theatre, Leicester Square, which read: “Tonight, personal appearance of LAUREL & HARDY at 9 p.m.” As a consequence, two thousand people turned up, giving Leicester Square the appearance of Trafalgar Square on a New Year’s Eve. Once again the media had instigated the formation of a huge crowd, into which the precipitation of Laurel and Hardy served as the catalyst for a reaction of hysteria. The whole crowd surged around the comedians’ hired car and, in their enthusiasm to get a look inside, caused the door to become torn from its hinges. Inside, Stan and Babe were terrified they were about to be crushed, for the car appeared to be giving them as much protection as a paper bag. They managed to gain entrance to the theatre only with some strong-arm support from a squad of policemen. On route, Laurel glanced upwards to see his name in lights above the theatre entrance and remarked to the Daily Herald reporter shadowing him:
Looks great, but kind of wasteful. But you should see the lighthouse in the graveyard at Ulverston in Lancashire where I was born. They put it up when I was a kid, a tombstone with a light on top. It was the Eighth Wonder of the World to me. Ever since then it’s been my ambition to have a tombstone like that.
[Any rich, Americans paying attention?]
Once inside the cinema, after the showing of the Laurel & Hardy film Any Old Port, the house-lights went up and the Boys walked on stage. The audience clapped and cheered for several minutes. Once the noise had abated, Hardy expressed their genuine gratitude for the great welcome they had received, whilst Stan interjected some cause for slapstick retribution. Asked, afterwards, how he felt about the welcome, Hardy told a Daily Sketch reporter:
‘I did feel like crying. You see I often get that way. I’m not ashamed of crying, you know,’ he added, ‘I love to go and see sob-stuff films. I just sit there and cry and cry.’
[Perhaps THAT’S the reason he’s called ‘Babe.’].
On Tuesday 26 July the newspaper Radio Programme page announced:
LAUREL & HARDY TO BROADCAST TO-NIGHT.
Laurel & Hardy, the British [sic] film comedians will broadcast for the first time to-night. They are due to appear at the microphone at 10.35, and their performance will last only five minutes. What they talk about will be kept secret until then.
The ‘On Air’ appearance, broadcast nationwide from the BBC studios in London, was causing great excitement as, that week, a huge exhibition of radios was on at the London Olympia. “Radio” (to misuse a line from one of Laurel and Hardy’s films) was “still in its infancy,” so personalities of the status of Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy, being introduced live into people’s homes, could only help to boost its popularity. The Manchester Evening News said prophetically: “This will be one of the occasions when Televisors would be really appreciated.” Television, then, was even more so in its infancy, but in the public’s mind enough for Stan’s father also to prophesy, when commenting on the decline of the theatre: “Whatever next ... ? Pictures televised direct to our firesides?”
Although no recording of Laurel and Hardy’s radio broadcast exists, it is known that Hardy sent greetings to a Mr. Bert Tracey. This would seem rather a strange thing to do as, at the time, Bert Tracey was watching Oliver Hardy through a plate glass window in the studios. Bert’s mother, however, received the greetings at her home in Victoria Park, Manchester, where Hardy said he was looking forward to meeting her the following Tuesday. Tracey was spending the evening with Laurel and Hardy, prior to travelling to the North of England with them.
[Bert Tracey's connection with Oliver Hardy went back to 1914, when they made comedy films together with the Lubin Picture Company, in Florida.]
In a later article in the Manchester Evening Chronicle, Tracey described the broadcast as follows:
The BBC’s magnificent new studios astonished Oliver. In spite of the self-possession an actor is supposed to have, the two stars looked like a couple of criminals about to be electrocuted as they seated themselves at the little table before the microphone. Some stuff was written for them to broadcast, but they just slung it away and carried on with one of their little quarrels.
Immediately after the broadcast, Stan and Babe hurried round to the Strand Theatre, where Ivor Novello’s play Party was playing. Backstage they were introduced to members of the cast by Leslie Henson, and again met up with Doug and Joan Fairbanks, plus Ivor Novello himself. Through such late nights the Boys were now extremely tired, so spent the morning of Wednesday 27 July resting. In the evening, they went to the Coliseum Theatre, in St. Martin’s Lane, WC2, to watch the play Casanova. Backstage, they met one of the principal actors, Jack Barty, who, just two years later would play the role of the butler in their Hollywood film The Laurel-Hardy Murder Case. Two other English comedy actors in the cast of Casanova, Duggie Wakefield and Billy Nelson, would also find themselves employed at the Hal Roach Studios within the year – which might indicate that Stan had somehow influenced their being employed by Roach.
Upon leaving the Coliseum, our two subjects officiated at the opening of the new Screen Artistes Federation Social Club, in Archer Street, after which they were wined and dined by their hosts. Leaving early, they joined up with the rest of their party at the train station, and caught the overnight ‘sleeper’ to Newcastle. Upon pulling in at Newcastle Central at the unsavoury hour of 5.49am a car took them to the Grand Hotel, Tynemouth; where few people other than a keen posse of reporters and a couple of policemen were around. Hardy made no secret of his tiredness, and promptly cancelled the round of golf arranged for later in the day, adding, with an unusual tinge of bitterness:
“I’m just sleepy. Everybody wants me here and there. I’m just like a mannequin on a string.”
As one of Hardy’s main intentions in coming to Britain was to sample her golf courses, he must have indeed been feeling fatigued. Laurel, too, was feeling the pace:
‘This is supposed to be a holiday, but our tour of England has been extended so that we have to cut out Madrid and Berlin. It’s good to be back in Tynemouth,’ he yawned, ‘but I feel I must have a rest. I’m going to bed.’
By then it was 8am, but at 10.30 both comedians appeared for breakfast, where Stan’s niece Eileen Jefferson (daughter of his older brother Gordon) had travelled from Newcastle to meet her famous Uncle. News of Laurel and Hardy’s arrival had spread, and a large throng began to gather outside. At a breakfast table in the hotel, a Shields Gazette reporter asked Laurel how he was enjoying his return visit to North Shields:
I’ve just arrived, but I’m pleased to see the place again. Hardy and I came over for a holiday, but we have not had a moment to spare. All the time I was in London I hadn’t time to go for a walk. I would like to have had the chance of a walk round the town to see some of the places I remember as a boy, but it cannot be done. We are just rushing about saying ‘Hello’ and then we are gone again. I am looking forward to the luncheon and seeing the councillors. I want to see if I can recognise any of them.
Breakfast over, the Mayor and Mayoress of Tynemouth – Alderman and Mrs. J.G. Telford – arrived to escort them to North Shields Town Hall. Upon its arrival, the mayoral car was surrounded by a crowd of several hundred people determined to get a good look at the local hero. A police cordon some fifty yards long, which had been holding the crowd at bay, snapped like a cheap necklace. Once again, as was now becoming all too regular, Laurel and Hardy were buffeted around in their car like a toy boat in an angry sea. As soon as the police cordon regrouped and ringed the car, Stan and Babe emerged to the sound of tremendous cheers. Making their way through hundreds of outstretched hands they reached the sanctuary of the Town Hall where, stepping out from his vantage point between the palms and potted plants which bedecked the corridors, a Sunderland Echo reporter asked Laurel:
‘What do you think of Mr Hardy?’
‘He’s worth his weight in diamonds,’ replied Stan.
Then to Hardy, ‘What do you think of Laurel?’
Hardy’s 18 stone frame quivered with mirth: ‘Coming through that crush just now I was mighty glad to be Hardy, but if ever I wish I were anyone else - it’s Laurel.’
These were not empty words, spoken to appease a reporter’s curiosity, but were a genuine indication of the high regard in which the two partners held each other.
The reception in the Mayor’s Parlour included amongst the guests: the chairman from each of the council committees; local theatre and cinema managers; two representatives from MGM; and members of the press; plus many of the people whom Stan had known as a boy, when he had lived in the neighbouring fishing town of North Shields (1897-1905). After cocktails, the honoured guests were taken across the road to the Albion Assembly Rooms. On the way over they were again mobbed, despite a strong presence of police. During luncheon Stan and Babe had constantly to swap their knives for pens, in order to sign the almost continuous stream of papers which were thrust at them, but both men took it in good spirits. In proposing a toast, the Mayor recalled when Stan’s father was himself a councillor (elected 1 November 1900). In reply to the toast, it was Stan who spoke first. In quiet tones he began:
Mr Mayor, Aldermen, Councillors, and old pals, I do not know what to say for the marvellous reception. I was not born in North Shields, but I feel that I just belong here. I am proud to be amongst you all. I owe a lot to Mr Hardy for making it possible for me to be in this position to come here and enjoy your wonderful reception. I feel I want to thank everybody personally. God Bless you all.
Considering that Oliver Hardy had no roots whatsoever in Tynemouth, and had been afforded its hospitality for only a couple of hours, his tribute would seem to be a bit over the top:
Mrs. Hardy and I want to stay here for ever. You have accepted us and made us feel at home. From the bottom of my heart I wish to thank you. I have never in all my life met with such hearty people, such kindly people, such courteous people, or such considerate people.
Earlier, Hardy had confided to a reporter: “Mr. Laurel wants them to give him ‘the Freedom of the City’ but, if the Mayor of Tynemouth is wise, he will do nothing of the kind.” The Mayor must have taken Hardy’s advice, for the luncheon ended with no such ceremony. Feeling nonplussed, Stan sneaked out, and went round to 8 Dockwray Square with the intent of surveying, in solitude, the home which had meant so much to him as a boy (1897-1903). He was denied the opportunity however, due to the vast volume of people who had anticipated his move and were awaiting his arrival.
8 Dockwray Square, North Shields – where the Jeffersons lived from 1897-1901.
Here in 1932 it was occupied by several families.
The crowd allowed him to mount the steps to his former home at number eight, but he was unable to get inside and look around due to the change in occupancy of the dwelling. When the Jeffersons had lived there they had sole occupancy of the house; but now, in 1932, it was subdivided and lived in by several families. Laurel was to say of his lost moment: “It is a place for sentiment with me. I belong to Dockwray Square.”
Having been picked up by a police escort which had managed to fight a way through the crowd, Stan was driven to his other former home, Ayton House (1902-05), where he was met by a much smaller gathering. For Laurel, it was then back to the Grand Hotel, where his comedy partner and the Mayor’s party had regrouped. On schedule at 3pm, Laurel and Hardy made the short journey from the hotel to the Plaza Cinema. As soon as Stan emerged, everyone wanted to touch, kiss, or shake hands with him. The Tynesiders’ show of affection was unbounded, for they were meeting not just any film star, but one whom they regarded as one of their own people. Finally arriving at the open-air terrace, at the back of the cinema, the VIPs took their places on the huge terrace overlooking the beach.
Of the two comedians Ollie was up first and, following a rather dramatic speech in which he paced up and down the row of seated on-lookers, he finished by addressing the crowds assembled on the steps, lower terrace, and adjacent beach with the words: “I will be down amongst you all soon.”
With the masses now baying for Stan, he rose and, in trying to give back the love they were radiating, allowed himself to be pushed, pulled, kissed, hugged, patted on the back, and shook hands till it hurt. He signed autographs, and posed for photographs with whoever commanded his presence. When the number of people approaching him didn’t seem to be decreasing, he addressed them thus: “I love you all. I would like to shake hands with you all and say ‘Thank You.’ It is the greatest day of my life.” He continued, “I shall always remember this visit to Tynemouth.” Then, obviously choked with emotion he regained his seat and proceeded to wipe away real tears of sentiment, whilst his partner could do nothing to console him.
The number of those in attendance was swelled by six hundred children who came under the charity banner of the ‘Sunshine Fund.’ In a gesture which only two people with the warm, human spirit which Laurel and Hardy possessed would care to volunteer, they presented gifts, donated to the charity, to all six hundred children. Laughing and joking throughout, Stan and Babe managed this mammoth task with unfailing grace and humour, and brought more pleasure to the children than if Saint Nicholas himself had been present. [Fortunately, silent film footage taken of the events outside the Plaza, for showing in local cinemas, is still in existence.]
As the party started to leave the esplanade, the two stars were again mobbed. A few of Stan’s old boyhood playmates, Alfred Chambers, John Armstrong, and John Bell, managed a few words with him, but the pressure of the crowd stopped any lengthy interchange. When Stan and Babe finally got away, they flopped straight into their beds back at the Grand Hotel.
At 9 o’clock the two comedians were to be found doing a walk-on at the Queen’s Hall, in Northumberland Street, Newcastle, a performance they then repeated at the Stoll Picture House, in Westgate Road. Outside both venues their car was again besieged, and they had to go through the now customary ritual of being manhandled. As some compensation, Laurel managed to meet up with Horace Lee – former manager of the Theatre Royal, North Shields. [Laurel’s father Arthur Jefferson had been Manager and Lessee of the Theatre Royal between 1897 and 1905 so Stan would have visited there many times, and met Horace when he was working for his father at the theatre, before Horace actually took over the role of manager.]
Laurel said of Lee, in a letter written in 1955:
I used to call him Uncle Horace - a sweet guy. I had the pleasure of seeing him again in ’32. it was an emotional meeting, both cried like kids.
Of his meeting with Laurel, the reporter from the Shields Hustler wrote:
What struck us all was Stan’s sweet naturalness. Success hasn’t spoilt him, as it does so many people. He has not developed a swelled head, and his old friends in North Shields were glad of that. There is something sad to witness men who have succeeded in forgetting themselves, and putting on airs - airs that invariably do not become them. Stan is ‘being himself’ and we like him all the better for it.
Friday, after breakfast, whilst waiting on Newcastle Central Station, the Boys were kept busy signing autographs, and talking to the press. Laurel left the following message for the people of Tyneside:
God bless everybody. I love them all. Tyneside people do not alter - they are as good as ever.
Hardy joined in:
You’re all just fine. I feel that America could not have made me feel more welcome.
Arthur Jefferson was on the platform, but remained behind to continue his own reunion with the people of Tyneside. His wife, however, joined Stan’s party. Stan hugged and kissed his dad and said goodbye. As the train pulled away, the pair leant through an open window and Stan waved his cloth cap whilst Ollie waved his straw boater. The people of Tynemouth responded by giving them a final rousing cheer. In Scotland, others had yet to stake a claim on the returning hero.
o-o-0-o-o
CHAPTER 3 – Scotland for the Brave
Rather than being an uncontrollable mob, the one-thousand-strong crowd at Edinburgh’s Waverley Station could only be described as “boisterous.” For their restraint, they were treated to a series of antics from Stan and Ollie which resulted in the reception being the jolliest of the whole trip. But allowing the public freedom of access to the celebrities soon proved too much, so the police force dislodged them from the crowd, and escorted them to the North British Station Hotel. Inside, both heaved a sigh of relief – pleased to have escaped a bruising for once.
In the afternoon, following a well earned rest, the Boys took an unscheduled walk around Edinburgh Castle, and went unmolested. The event was recorded on film, but a letter written by Laurel to a fan in 1957 revealed something the camera had missed.
Yes, I visited Edinburgh Castle in ’32. Oliver was with me, his first trip to Scotland, we did’nt get a chance to enjoy looking around on account of the crowds who followed us there, to get autographs & snap shots, handshaking, etc. also requests to kiss babies & many more Gals.
I can see poor Babe now, pretending to be very pleased, but giving on the side his famous ‘Burned up’ expression, then quickly changing to a jovial side again. I often wished I had been able to spot that situation into a film, it would have been a riot.
Although the daytime events had gone off well, the evening was to hold a very different atmosphere. With only one public appearance having been arranged in Edinburgh, it was not surprising that crowds had gathered hours before the comedians’ arrival. The scenes which followed were caught admirably on film by local enthusiast Alan J. Harper. As Laurel and Hardy’s car pulled up at the Playhouse Theatre, pandemonium broke loose. People brushed past the police, and ringed the car – jumping, cheering and waving. The fans on the opposite pavement, being denied a view of the comedy duo, surged across the road en bloc, prompting Stan and Babe to run for the entrance. The surging mass was then immediately scattered by mounted police.
Meanwhile, the audience of three thousand inside the Playhouse was being kept happy watching the Laurel & Hardy film Laughing Gravy. When Mr. Ellis, the house-manager, introduced Laurel and Hardy on stage there was several minutes of deafening applause. Filling in with comic interplay, the comedy duo waited for the ovation to subside and, when the vast audience became hushed, Hardy started his customary address. In his speech he told the people of Edinburgh how thankful they were for the wonderful reception they had been given that night, and also for the kindness they had been shown since their arrival in Britain. He went on to say, modestly, that they had been more than adequately rewarded for the little efforts he and his partner made to amuse and entertain, by that reception, and continued:
When I come here again I’m coming in a big limousine, and I am going to ‘do’ this country properly, even though it may take about three months. I have so many “Scotch” friends in Hollywood, and I want to see the country from which they came. This visit is all too short, but even so it has meant that we shall have to cut out going to part of the Continent, for which we sail on the 24th of next month.
Laurel then broke into the conversation with his plea to be heard, after which their “business” ended with Ollie booting Stan off the stage. All things being finished inside the Playhouse, Laurel and Hardy had next to work out an escape plan. Looking outside, the pair could see that the crowd had in no way diminished, so police reinforcements were called for, and Stan, Babe, and Myrtle dashed for the car. Four mounted police then accompanied them down Leith Walk, back to their hotel. By 9.30pm the party was packed and ready on the railway platform, this time at the Caledonian Station, where fans demanded Stan and Babe’s constant attention right up to the last second of the train pulling away. Little did the Boys know that, whilst enjoying the journey west to Glasgow, this was the lull before the storm, and in less than ninety minutes their lives, and those of many fans, would be in peril.
On 30 July 1932 thousands of people were crowded into the Los Angeles stadium, USA, to witness the opening parade of the two thousand athletes in the Olympic Games. Countless flags were being waved, and a choir of one thousand people sang the National Anthem. The “President’s Dinner” was attended by scores of film stars. On the eve of all this, eight thousand people were crowding around Glasgow Central railway station, to witness the attraction of just TWO celebrities. Countless flags were being waved, and a massed choir of eight thousand whistled the anthem – not the National Anthem, but Laurel and Hardy’s anthem – “The Cuckoo Song.”