Like Shirley, Mum and I both needed a new frock for this special occasion, so we went to a little shop in Ilford which had been recommended to Mum. The shop was rather like Dr Who’s, Tardis; the outside was small and hardly noticeable but once you stepped through the door you were overwhelmed by the quantity of stock held within. The lady who ran the shop greeted us enthusiastically and within minutes of establishing our needs, rushed around the shop gathering up several dresses from the racks. ‘Try this on, it looks so much better on,’ she said, as she caught my disapproving look. I had to like a dress before I would try it on, plus I preferred something a little more classic than the ones she was holding up.
Soon she began to understand the style I liked and produced a lovely pale blue dress, which had six diamond buttons down the front. I fell in love with it immediately and when I tried it on, it fitted perfectly. Mum had spotted something for herself which was not dissimilar: her dress had several jewelled stones around the neck and partly down the front and was light beige in colour. When Mum tried on the dress and walked out from the changing room, I thought she looked beautiful. I had never seen Mum in anything quite like this before, although she had always looked lovely in everything she wore. Mum loved my dress too, so we were both very happy as we left the shop to travel home and show Dad our new party frocks. When we arrived home it didn’t take long for Mum and I to hold our own little fashion parade especially for Dad. One look at his face, as we twirled around the dining room, told us all we needed to know – he would be proud to take us to the ball!
Dad too, had a surprise for us: he had arranged car hire for our evening out. Today when we consider car hire we simply think of just that, hiring a car. Yet back in the sixties car hire incorporated not just the car but also a chauffeur, who would be immaculately dressed in a dark suit and tie, black gloves and peak cap. Dad, knowing Mr Tricker who operated his own car-hire business, appropriately named Ace Car Hire, had hired him to take and collect us from The Talk of the Town on the appointed evening. This very likeable and reliable man was just what we required since it would be around 1am before we would be ready to leave the theatre and head home.
At school my friends, who were often bored by my talk of Shirley Bassey, were happy to hear of the preparations for our special night out. None had been to The Talk of the Town, although many were aware of its existence and its importance in the world of entertainment. As with all teenagers, even today, a few classmates were a little envious.
It was Saturday and our big day had finally arrived. I had found it almost impossible to contain my excitement throughout the week following Shirley’s opening night the previous Monday, which received rave reviews in the national press. At 6.30pm Mr Tricker’s shining limousine pulled up outside our house. It goes without saying, we were all dressed up and ready and I can remember feeling rather special as I climbed into the car. Turning to look out of the window, I saw our next-door neighbours; they had come out to wish us an enjoyable evening and remained there, waving furiously, until the car pulled away down the street and finally drove out of sight. The drive into London took about forty-five minutes, plus a few more for Mr Tricker to manoeuvre his limousine outside the front entrance to The Talk of the Town. Displayed in the windows at either side of the entrance were large black-and-white photographs of Shirley Bassey.
Suddenly it struck me: this was happening and tonight we were going to witness something very special. The doorman stepped forward and opened the door of our car and I stepped out onto the pavement. As I looked up, my head leaning back as far as it would go, I watched the flashing neon lights spelling out the name of the theatre restaurant. When the doorman lead us into the foyer, I thought I’d entered an Aladdin’s Cave, with the deep red carpet, gold fittings and crystal lights. We joined the crowd of people making their way up a few steps to the entrance; to the left was a small bar. As our table had been booked for 8pm and we had arrived early, we were directed to the bar. It was lavishly furnished in deep red velvet and gold; I had never experienced anything quite like this. Ladies sipped at their gin and tonics whilst the gentlemen enjoyed a brandy in between puffing on a cigar. We sat and had a drink while gazing around at the other patrons with whom we would share our evening.
As 8pm drew near we left the comfort of the bar and headed towards the small archway leading into the vast restaurant-theatre area. We could not venture further without checking in with the restaurant manager who presided over a large table plan. Dad gave his name and within a few moments a waiter was summoned to show us to our table. I hardly had time to catch my breath as we followed, dodging other patrons and waiters along the way. Eventually we were shown our table, situated approximately halfway between the stage and the rear of the theatre, then ushered into our seats. Ours provided us with a good view of the stage since our row of tables was positioned on a slightly higher level than the ones in front of us. We were also in a central position, which meant Shirley would be directly ahead – maybe she would see me!
I took in a gulp of air and gazed around; the place looked stunning, red, gold and crystal prominent everywhere. Mum and Dad seemed to share my feelings and we were all smiles when the waiter reappeared to take our food and drink order. I was always too excited to remember anything particular about the food, but I do remember we enjoyed the three-course dinner, my favourite always being course number three. The seating area was vast and I believe it had the capacity to seat approximately 1,000 diners. On three sides, tables surrounded a rectangular dance floor which miraculously rose up about one metre to table level at show time. Slightly further back and above us, rather like the royal circle in a theatre, was another area of seating for diners. During dinner we listened to the orchestra and watched as some members of the audience showed off their dancing skills in front of those gathered around.
Actually, The Talk of the Town had two orchestras: one favoured traditional dance band music whilst the other was known for its Latin American style. The two orchestras would seamlessly rota in an ingenious way as they played ‘I Could Have Danced All Night’. One band playing onstage would divide in the middle, the stage moving one half of the seated musicians off to the wings on the left, while the other half were moved into the wings on the right. Simultaneously, the second orchestra, who were seated and playing at the rear of the stage, were moved forward to front of stage. It was a marvellous piece of stage engineering that always fascinated me and I still marvel at it whenever I hear that music today.
‘I Could Have Danced All Night’ played again, but this time the curtain closed to the audience’s applause. It was 10pm and Robert Nesbitt’s Roman Holiday revue was about to commence. With an array of dancers, it also featured four principal performers, one of which was Lynda Baron who a decade or so later gained fame in the BBC comedy series Open All Hours. The revue showcased Rome and its many facets, with lavish stage sets, colourful costumes and wonderful music. It was also extravagant, featuring fountains which occupied most of the stage area and ran continuously for approximately forty minutes. I can recall thinking this is much more exciting than listening to a comic tell a few jokes!
The revue received a good response from the audience and now, with the stage lowered, couples once again took to the dance floor. The atmosphere was beginning to mount as people seemed to be preparing themselves for the next part of the evening. I began to develop my preperformance nerves and wondered how Shirley was feeling; knowing she had to walk out onstage and face an audience not entirely formed of fans made me more apprehensive. Yet, I told myself, Shirley has done this before, cabaret is her forte and she will have them in the palm of her hand after her first number.
Suddenly an announcement was made: ‘Ladies and Gentleman may we remind you there will be no bar service during Miss Bassey’s performance.’ Waiters hurried around, fulfilling every order. The orchestra stopped playing, the curtain fell, the stage rose. Suddenly the audience was quiet, no more