In his early teens, Ted took on as many odd jobs as he could handle, bringing in the extra pennies to help feed the still-growing family. He’d wake up at the crack of dawn to help deliver milk from the horse and cart, while every Monday he’d be wheeling an old pram around to all the women in the street, collecting their husband’s suits and taking them to a pawn shop in Darlaston. On a Friday he would collect them again so all the men could be suited and booted at the weekend.
Around this time, Ted formed what would become a lifelong habit of trying out different things he thought would make him happy and give him purpose, with varying degrees of success. Like most other boys on the estate, he had a strong interest in football, but it was his love of music that was his true passion.
This musical love affair began with Maurice taking the teenage Ted along to the local pub, The Coronation – nicknamed The Cora, one Saturday night. The Cora was a huge pub, built in the early 1930s when the rest of the Friar Park estate was still under construction. Back then in the 1950s it was packed every night – it had a smoke room, a kids’ room and a huge assembly room where bands could play. It was rough and ready but a magnet for local musicians and became known as the place to be. There he saw first-hand the magic of stepping up in front of the crowd and performing. Maurice would arrive like royalty, spend a few minutes chatting to his friends, and then be the first one up to sing. His favourite song was ‘Marta’ by Arthur Tracy and it was a real crowd-pleaser. By the end of his performance, the audience would be on its feet applauding. Maurice would then return to the bar, greeted by a series of backslaps and handshakes, before finding the drinks lined up waiting for him as Ted looked on in awe.
Ted soon found himself walking in his father’s footsteps when, aged 15, he left school and began working alongside Maurice at the Deritend forge. Everyone in the family had traditional roles – men went out to graft and Hilda would prepare a big portion of something hearty for lunch, and it was sometimes Marilyn’s (one of Ted’s younger sisters) job to deliver it to the working boys, whose stomachs were groaning by midday. They all knew her down at the factory and would let her walk straight in – there was no Health and Safety in those days – and as she watched them eat she was bowled over by how hard the men had to work, with the sweat pouring off them from their morning shift. Years later she remarks: ‘All the men had sweated so much that, by the end of the shift, they could stand their trousers up because of all the salt.’
The family work ethic was ingrained in Ted and he worked as much as he could, finally feeling as if he was earning his keep as well as bringing home a bit extra that he could spend on himself. He’d often work a 6 a.m. to 2 p.m. shift, come back home to Kent Road, then if there was extra work going, he would return to the factory and do the late shift until 10 p.m. At the end of the week he’d come home with his wages and hand Hilda the overtime.
‘Come on, Big’ Un, you’re a young lad, you need the cash!’ she’d say.
But Ted would have none of it: ‘No, Muv, you need it more than me. You’re the one with all the mouths to feed! Buy one of the kids some new shoes. Our Jane could do with a new pair,’ he’d say, walking out the kitchen before she could say anything else on the subject.
It was around the same time that Ted and his friends began to head down to the local church youth club, nicknamed The Shack. It was free entry most nights, but on special occasions, when the organizer, Mr Turner, had booked a band or a singer, there was a small charge on the door. Those nights were like a military operation for Ted. He would pay a shilling to enter, then go to the toilets to pass his ticket to Joey B, who would do the same to Kenny and Walter as they crouched outside underneath the window, hands stretched out to receive the illegal ticket.
On Saturday nights everyone made an effort to look the part, as it was the social highlight of the week for most of them – Ted’s brother-in-law, Tony, remembers:
‘All the boys wore their best suits and had their hair flattened down with Brylcreem. But however smart the crowd looked, it was Ted who always stood out. He’d walk in and command instant attention in his cream-coloured raincoat and white silk scarf. All the girls, whatever their ages, would swoon. He was the nearest thing to Dickie Valentine they’d ever seen.’ Even then Ted had the women in the palm of his hand without really knowing it; he just had a presence that made everyone stop and take notice.
By now, Ted had stopped relying on Hilda’s make-do-and-mend policy when it came to his clothes. As he was growing up, Hilda had prided herself on making most of the children’s clothes herself, going down to Birmingham Rag Market, buying second-hand garments, washing them, unpicking them, then sewing them all back together so they always looked brand new. But for Ted, that all stopped when he began to take charge of what he wanted to wear and carved out his own sense of style. He’d inherited Hilda’s pragmatic approach to work and knew it was an important means to an end. If you wanted something, you had to look the part – that was half the battle.
That applied to making the right impression at The Shack. It was a small place with plastic chairs and tables, nothing fancy or glamorous, but it was always full. Ted’s friends, however, were a different kettle of fish, and, unlike him, listening to the music wasn’t really their top priority. They were at The Shack for one reason only – and that was to chat up girls. This mission often backfired as they spluttered their way through most introductions and the girls soon tired of their boyish attempts at wooing and went off to laugh and dance together. There was a routine to every Saturday night, which started with trollies of tea and buns being brought round. Then the lights were turned down, the glitter ball switched on and the dancing began. Ted’s brother Ernie was always the first on the dance floor and soon both brothers became popular with the girls – Ted because of his looks and Ernie because of his moves.
But it wasn’t just Ted’s dress sense that made him stand out. As soon as Mr Turner brought out that record player, Ted would be singing along. Like his father he appeared to have very little fear of getting up onstage. After a while Ted acquired a name for having a voice like velvet and the young audience couldn’t get enough of him. They shouted and clapped encouragement and sang along approvingly as he got going. Being onstage and singing in front of a crowd was the most freeing feeling he’d ever experienced and he soon became addicted.
One Saturday, after Ted and his friends had become regulars at the club, Mr Turner announced that they’d booked a professional singer for the following week, which meant that it was going to cost everyone an extra sixpence to get in. There was much talk about who’d be coming and if there would still be the usual routine of tea, buns and dancing. It was a big deal and, the next week, the crowd was full of teenagers all dressed up, waiting to hear the mystery performer. There were also an unusual number of couples swaying in corners. It was clear that the smart-thinking boys had asked the girls they liked on a date that night – keen to impress with a booked performer and lively crowd.
Eventually the singer arrived, dressed up to the nines in a tuxedo – you could have heard a pin drop as he handed his pianist the music. Then he started singing. It took the crowd a while to register what was happening – there were no romantic crooning or show-stopping tunes; it was straight-down-the-line opera and it went down like a lead balloon. Ted’s brother-in-law Tony reminisces: ‘The room was full of teenagers used to Dickie Valentine and Jimmy Young and here was this guy singing arias. You can imagine the crowd’s reaction.’
A voice from the audience bellowed: ‘What the bloody hell is this?’ and suddenly everyone else joined in, making it clear this was not the night they had expected. After his third song, the singer announced that he’d be back after a break.
‘Dow bother!’ someone shouted from the crowd. ‘We dow want you back!’
By this time