As we made our way out of the theatre, we found ourselves very near to the spot where we had seen Shirley arrive earlier in the day. The transformation from the Shirley Bassey we had seen stepping out of the car to the ‘fabulous’ Miss Bassey onstage was magical, yet both had me mesmerised. That night I had become one of her ardent fans and somehow I knew I would remain so throughout my life.
Being an only child and a Piscean, it was perhaps not surprising that after 12 April much of my life was spent dreaming. At school the other girls could not quite understand why I was infatuated by Shirley Bassey; after all, they spent their time raving over pop idols, many of whom came and went within a matter of weeks. They didn’t seem to realise I was talking about a legend in the making. When they failed to understand, I felt sorry for them for not being able to appreciate the wonderful talent of Miss Bassey, and I just carried on dreaming.
I was considered mature for my years; I think this was because I spent so much of my spare time with my mum and dad. Both my parents were a few years older than most of the other parents, a consequence of my mum having been badly injured towards the latter part of the Second World War. A ‘doodlebug’ (V1 flying bomb), having decided to cut its motor, had glided down to cause terrible devastation not far from my parents’ home. My mum, close to the point of impact, was very badly injured, but she believed she was lucky; others had died. Mum spent nine months in hospital recovering, only to be told when she was finally discharged that she must wait at least two years before trying for a baby. Naturally, when I finally came along, my parents were over the moon and couldn’t contain their joy. I remained an only child and maybe some would say a little spoilt. My parents certainly couldn’t have loved me more but being loved does not mean you are spoilt. Mum and Dad had started with little, as did many of that generation, working hard to give me the best they could in life, yet more importantly teaching me to respect and recognise life’s many treasures in all their shapes and forms. I was a very lucky child.
So, back to Easter 1963… I sat at home looking through the first pages of my Shirley Bassey scrapbook, which I had started to compile a few months previously. It contained a few pictures, reviews and advertising material from the concert we had just seen and now I was copying, in my own handwriting, the notes written by Kenneth Hume that appeared on the sleeve of Shirley Bassey with Nelson Riddle and His Orchestra. You may remember I did not have a record player, but nevertheless I had purchased Shirley’s LP, partly in preparation for the day when I would have one and partly because I wanted Shirley’s record to climb the charts, thus adding to her success. As I wrote out the notes in my best handwriting, still dreaming of Friday’s concert, it suddenly occurred to me what I should do next. I would write a letter to Shirley and tell her how much we’d all enjoyed her concert. Why hadn’t I thought of it sooner!
I started to draft my letter, choosing the words as best I could to express how much we had enjoyed her singing and wishing her well for the future. I read its contents out loud to my parents who, although encouraging, probably wondered whether my letter would actually get within range of Miss Bassey’s voice, let alone be read by her. I, however, had no doubts and the next day went out and bought some lovely writing paper and envelopes onto which I would copy my letter and post it to her, c/o William Victor Productions, Suite 5, 190 Piccadilly, London W1.
Then I was off to the post office to purchase a stamp and, feeling rather proud, I handed over my letter for posting. The postmaster gave me a little smile as he read the name, Miss Shirley Bassey, and I imagine he also wondered whether the lady would read my words.
The days following Easter were very busy for me. On holiday from school for some of that time, I would try to look through the music magazines, New Musical Express (NME) and Melody Maker, as they lay displayed on the counter of the local newsagents. This was quite a difficult task in the 1960s; today it can be achieved more easily, and indeed it seems to be the norm to read half a paper or magazine before purchasing it. However, it didn’t take long for the newsagent I regularly called on to understand my needs. He knew if anything featured those three magic words, ‘Miss Shirley Bassey’, he was on to a winner. As time went by, if I hadn’t been to his shop he would actually save me any newspaper or magazine that carried an article about Shirley.
Fortunately, I now had a Saturday job helping out at a local chemist’s, which I enjoyed very much. It provided me with a little pocket money, some of which I offered to Mum, but I think she felt I was getting so little for one day’s work and so said I should keep it all. She also knew I was starting to save some money for what I called my ‘entertainment fund’ and I think she was fairly happy to see my money go in this direction. At the end of the day, I needed money to telephone agents, theatres, television companies and record label Columbia if I were to keep up to date with Miss Bassey’s performance schedule. These were not the days of the Internet, iPhone and Facebook; to gather my information I needed two 1960s communication tools: the ability to write letters and a telephone. I enjoyed writing letters, so once I had invested in some decent stationery, which I had already done to write to Shirley about the concert, I was ready to begin. First, however, I needed to collect and compile the information I required for the months ahead, and that meant I needed a phone. A private telephone was a relative luxury for a working-class family back then. My aunt had a telephone, as did one or two of the neighbours down our street, but these were only available to me in an emergency. Now, I may have thought booking concert tickets should be classed as an emergency, but I don’t think the neighbours would have seen it like that!
So my only option was the good old-fashioned red telephone box, which always smelled of stale tobacco and fish and chips. The secret was, once inside, to press your foot against the glass door sufficiently to allow in some fresh air while making sure you did not let the outside sounds block your ability to hear the person you were talking to on the other end of the line. This required a good deal of left-foot control, something I mastered over the years. Of course, before you could even attempt to do this, you had to be inside the telephone box and this often required a great deal of patience, especially on cold wet days when the person waiting ahead of you in the queue probably wanted to phone his girlfriend.
Eventually my time would come, and with a small notebook and pen placed on the top of the coin box and a plentiful supply of coins, I would lift the receiver, place the coins in the box and dial the number. When you heard the sound of a voice speaking through the earpiece, immediately followed by a series of bleeps, it was time for fast action. Press button A and with luck you were connected. Then you had to state your enquiry, which often meant holding on and inserting more coins into the black box, whilst the person with whom you wished to speak was connected to your phone line. Thankfully, I usually spoke to someone who could give me some information concerning Miss Bassey’s engagements; remember, we were living in an age where the level of security was far lower than today. What a joy it was when I was given news of a concert date or a television performance. I would run home excitedly to tell my parents in the hope we might attend.
My bedroom took on the new look of an organised office, with drawers in the dressing table converted to accommodate stationery, notebooks and my scrapbook with its grey and fawn pages. I had covered it in white paper, to which I added a colour photo of Shirley and the words ‘The Fabulous Shirley Bassey’. I also had a diary into which I noted any information regarding Shirley’s professional engagements, and an address book for retaining useful contact details. Over the coming weeks these two items became very important in my quest to obtain information. To be sure of getting good seats at concerts it was essential to apply for tickets early, preferably before any official announcement was made in the music press. Therefore the more information you had the more likely it was that you could get the best tickets for concert performances.
There wasn’t so much block booking by agents then, nor were ticket touts as operational as we know them today. The sixties saw fair play – simply be at the front of the queue or be first to apply meant you could be sure of good seats.
My dad was also collecting information, and being the methodical person he was, he was spending some of his time after Easter researching the latest record players. The postman would arrive at the house with letters addressed to Mr R. F. Pilgrim, all of which contained specifications on the various makes and models. Finally,