From No Business to Show Business and Back Again

by Sara John

The middle of August was when the ‘A’ Level results were posted to households with students and their families eagerly awaiting the postman’s visit.

I thought that these results, would be meaningless for most people, including, I decided, the Education Department Staff at the local council offices. Could these results perhaps be “lying around” in an office ready to be posted? Should I call in? Could I have a peep before they go? I was very eager to find out now my results rather than waiting for the postman so that I could take the next steps. And also get a good night’s sleep!

With nothing to lose except another night’s sleep, a lot of well laid plans (no mice involved, mice did not want to go to Art School, as I did although they possibly kept application forms for Catering Colleges handy). The well-laid plans previously devised had required a great deal of plotting and promising. The plotting involved reading up reviews of Art Exhibitions, in case I was successful in my examinations and would be called for interview at Art School; the promising was to reassure my parents (that I could “always teach” which I had no intention of doing as in no thank you, never, not for me). That justification was only a very small part of what I featured in my prayers, which also included a vow to cut off my hair and join a Religious Order as long as I could go to Art School first! Please Dear Lord. I decided to go to the local Education Office, and just ask, nicely if I could have my A level results right away (now please, please, please.) In those days the Education Departments were situated in a Victorian building called, not Offices, but Chambers in Llewelyn Street, Pentre, in the Rhondda. As I entered the premises, they appeared to be very dark and gloomy, and on the shady side of the street. It felt as though the building had been deserted, and subsequently haunted, by generations of spirits of past officials, typists, clerks, and others who would never again see sunshine. Or the sunny side of the street. I could smell the ink in squelchy Victorian ink pads. Black of course. Stephens’ Radiant Blue was out of the question. I began to hear the clackity-clack-ding of typewriters, fuelled still by gas I decided, as I ventured through the open door and down a dark and gloomy corridor that appeared to have no end.

What if the answer to my request and enquiry is “No, you cannot”. I had a ‘brief’ explanation of why the urgency was so important to me ready if required. A young man appeared out of the gloom, nice shirt white of course, neat navy suit, plain specs and asked if he could help me? I decided to take a chance and set aside my ‘brief explanation’ which would have put his bedtime back considerably (it had not an iota of truth in it, the explanation that is, but was of decent length and might make a short story one day). I decided to start with an apology for using up his time, smile but look worried (not too much) and appear more than a little nervous. He said it was not a problem to help me and I could have a copy of my results to take away (I thought to myself that only mattered if there were any results. What if it was just a blank piece of paper?). I answered all his questions, name, address and so on and he said that he had just been dealing with that location. The information was on the counter in front of him!

He passed me the precious information and I read the very brief details in a single glance! I thanked him profusely, read them again and walked across the road to the “sunny side of the street”, a popular song of the period. Opening that single page with very sparse details filled me with relief. I had gained A level Art and done well: meaning that I had three A levels (one with distinction) to complement my ten O levels. I had already applied to Cardiff Teacher Training College around Easter time that year, as a backup plan. I went for interview and was offered, and accepted, a place there.

Now I faced a dilemma. With my better than I dared hope results I felt confident that, at least I would achieve an interview at the Art School if I applied under their Late Entry system. My main interest, was dress design and I had designed and made many garments for my local and Cardiff customers. I had taken these garments along to a local photographer and I ‘modelled’ each one for him to photograph. I mounted them in a folio with sample fabrics, notes and other details just in case I won an interview.

Could I risk turning down my place at Teacher Training College, here and now, in August, in advance of risking a Late Entry system application in mid-September at Cardiff School of Art, thereby leaving me with no backup plan.

However, it seemed wrong to sit on one offer, at Cardiff Teacher Training College when there were probably

other applicants very eager to go to study there. It was a popular choice for would-be teachers and likely to be over subscribed.

On the other hand the Art School in The Friary, Cardiff had no knowledge of me and might think I was unreliable, lived some distance away, not worth seeing and wondering why I had left it so late to apply.

Two solutions came to me as I floated down the main road, singing silently, grinning with satisfaction and weightless with relief. First thing tomorrow I would visit my beloved Art Mistress who lived a short distance from my home. I was sure she would help me with my dilemma.

In fact, I also had the makings of a second backup plan. I had all the equipment at home, (I was an only child living with my parents in a nice roomy house) to set up on my own if I had to. I already had a fair-sized number of regular customers, I had also made a lot of dresses for little girls as well as their mothers.

The next morning, I visited my art teacher at her house and she was delighted with my examination results and advised me to write at once to the Training College to withdraw my application. Secondly, she offered to write to the Art School - she had studied there herself - recommending me as a potential student. Within a few days the Art School had sent me a prospectus, application forms and clear instructions of what to take with me when I attended a day of examinations and interviews two weeks hence! I confirmed that I would be there and spent the next two weeks on serious preparations. The day of entrance examinations and interviews was a very long day.

Everyone there was very welcoming, and it was so NOT like school. The atmosphere was Friday afternoon/last day of term/in the art room. There were about sixteen of us, boys and girls, some who were quite a lot older had already completed degree courses elsewhere. We were each interviewed by at least three if not four lecturers, which included part time lecturers who were well known professional artists or art historians themselves.

We were told it would only be a few days before we would hear the results of the day’s work, we were thanked and sent off home to relax and recover!

Two days later The Letter arrived. I ripped it open. I had been offered a place there!

The risk taking/praying/preparation/worrying/insomnia had paid off. I would enjoy the next three years; I decided and learn as much as possible. I could not stop thinking that come September I would be “An Art Student”. Then “everything would be alright. And it was! It was a very good time indeed.

Cardiff School of Art had a fine reputation and was proud of the fact that it was a “school” not a college. We

At the end of three years, I had learnt the theory of colour, life drawing skills, perspective, painting, ceramics, pattern cutting, dressmaking, sketching clothes, construction methods including using lathes, power tools, soldering, welding, jewellery making, printing, photography, processing and so much more. As in school we had a timetable and NOT as in school, no one was ever late for lessons!

The three years sped by.

There will be another article soon on “being an art student in Cardiff in the early sixties, with not being welcome in most cafés, especially those with tablecloths. Meantime finding and wearing flared jeans from the one and only source, growing your hair and/ or your beard as appropriate, smoking Disque Bleu cigarettes and deliberately carrying a paperback copy of anything by Jean Paul Sartre. Seeking obscure music by Thelonius Monk in Spillers Record shop in the Hayes. Eating peas and chips for one shilling and threepence in British Home Stores (every day for lunch) and hoping you had the four pence to finish off with a mug of hot chocolate!”

At that time after Art College, the Sixties were well established as rationing, shortages, queues for salmon or sausages were a thing of the distant past.

However, I started to feel something inside me that was familiar. The same sort of anxiety I felt when I was leaving School and facing a different world. A chilly feeling. Not being comfortable within myself. Would I find paid employment? Would I be eligible for Unemployment Pay? I had paid no National Insurance. Should I have gone to Teacher Training College when I had the chance? What was I to do, I could not risk conveying too many of my concerns to my mother. Possibly she would go outside with a loud hailer to let everyone know and also take an advertising space in the Western Mail Saturday edition.

My dilemma this time was also settled by someone I knew but not very well, and someone I was yet to meet. This is what happened.

One of my chums in Art School was Catherine, she lived in Cardiff and through local connections had the offer of design work starting in September, working actually in Cardiff. Her immediate future was assured. However, we both decided to use our vacation time to learn more.

In those days there was a wonderful Summer School run for four weeks each year in Barry Teachers Training College. There were twenty or so arts and crafts related courses on offer, all tempting and free to residents in Glamorgan. We were both accepted and enrolled. We would attend the two weeks offered on the Millinery Course and another two weeks on Church Embroidery. We also had tickets for a Dance at The Water’s Edge, in Barry which was a popular venue for dances, in those days, and with an orchestra! Catherine had friends attending who were locals and regulars and I was introduced to one man, very pleasant, good humoured and well mannered called Huw. Now was Fate intervening for me? Why? you are asking. Because, because he worked for BBC Wales. This was the BBC channel for Wales that had previously been Channel 13. The organisation was growing, there were vacancies in the Design Departments and Huw asked if I was interested. Was I interested? Was I? Yes! I was. He gave me the details of the person to contact. Little did he know this would be my ‘front door key’ for my next twenty-five years. I contacted the ‘contact’ and was invited to appear for interview, not, at this stage for filling a vacancy but to work on what they referred to as a Casual Contract. The BBC offices at that time were in Park Place in town prior to the Big Move to the as yet “not quite ready” award winning building in Llantrisant Road, Llandaff.

I was early, I was nervous, I was eager. I was familiar with the programmes BBC Wales were making. They included television dramas, (Sunday evening network slot) family-based weekly serials, wonderful music programmes with the BBC Welsh Orchestra (a few years later to be extended, courtesy of the Welsh Arts Council, to full Symphonic strength). Popular variety shows, much comedy, pop and folk music. Major events were covered along with daily news, sport, discussion and talks programmes.

At the BBC offices I met a nice man called Mr Tidball, surprisingly (to me) a Cornishman. He knew, I soon realised, all about the programmes mentioned above, but as he explained his job was to find out about what I had been doing, had done, had to offer, and my academic achievements and my ‘attitude’ to working long hours, working under pressure in a team and my ability to stay calm and solve problems.

It seems I had been seen as “suitable”. In no time at all I was in a television studio assisting on a live Pop music programme in a big converted church packed with broadcasting equipment, engineers, programme makers and artistes. It all felt quite wonderful, challenging but magical. I had been truly lucky. I cannot tell of twentyfive years within my space allocation but a few tasters for future stories take us around the country.

Waiting in the restaurant queue one hot day in Pebble Mill in Birmingham was a warning to me to keep my distance! We were all squashed up waiting for our orders to be fulfilled and someone behind me shouted, ‘Move along’. I did so but the man in front of me, busy talking to another customer, did not. My arm was

pushed into the back of his arm which was holding his tray. He was a large gentleman in a very expensive sample of the best in English tailoring. “oh! I am terribly sorry”, I wailed, convinced I had broken my arm, but rendered speechless when I recognised who may have injured me! It was Henry Cooper, himself! He was made of concrete.

Working in Television Centre I pressed the button to summon the Scenery lift to go up a few floors. Quite legal. The doors opened and the entire cast of Dad’s Army, all in costume and makeup were inside. The very cockney character was first with, “Ello darlin’ fancy a”– I was gone by then!

A makeup lady who was a good friend, let’s call her Wanda, and I were doing a light entertainment extravaganza in Rhyl Sun Centre. It was very hot weather. Rod Hull and Emu were running through their act on stage mid-afternoon in rehearsal, well prior to the real show due to start at 7-30pm. The arena seating was full. Wanda was a very striking blonde who very professionally responded to an unplanned call from the floor manager to appear and deal with a very hot performer and a very naughty Emu. Rod went on with his lines and moves as part of his performance to warm up the audience. However, as Wanda walked a fair distance and then up and onto the stage, Emu with his mouth hanging open was alternating with looking at her and shoving Rod Hull, who was very cleverly pretending not to know what was going on in the ribs. As she approached Rod with her magic cool-you-down chamois cloths Emu took his chance!!!The audience were already in hysterics by now realising what they were enjoying was off the cuff and, what shall I say, “Not of broadcast quality”.

Emu was sizing up his next move, he chose his moment, he aimed for the second button from the top and with his beak pulled open Wanda’s pale blue button fronted (well it had been button fronted a bit earlier on) BBC Makeup Dept. overall. The audience were beside themselves. Rod Hull had that innocent expression of “What is going On?” Actually, it was off not on! Wanda was in tears and fled partly undressed. The audience were convinced it had all been planned beforehand. It certainly had not.

Working in Broadcasting was not like that all the time, just some of the time, Thank Goodness.

However, that was only the beginning. Later, I was fortunate to work with a lot of people I never thought I would actually meet. These included Tessie O’Shea, Ken Dodd, Richard Burton, Gayle Hunnicutt, Clifford Evans, Ryan and Ronnie, Max Boyce and Kenneth Griffiths. Sir Geraint Evans, Stuart Burrows, Dame Margaret Price and Kenneth Bowen. So there was lots more to come.

Join Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty and Rapunzel in a brand new adventure this Christmas

Audiences aged 7+ will be transported from Edwardian Cardiff to the magical fairy tale world of the Brothers Grimm this Christmas. Hannah McPake will reimagine the famous fairy tales, creating a spectacular new Christmas show full of songs and laughter, performed by an exceptional group of actor musicians and directed by Joe Murphy.

The cast will include several Sherman Christmas favourites. As well as writing this year’s show, Hannah McPake, who recently delighted audiences as Scrooge in A Christmas Carol and the Queen of Hearts in Alice in Wonderland, will return to the Sherman’s Main House stage as Mum / Snow Queen.

James Ifan (A Christmas Carol, Alice in Wonderland) will play Jacob Grimm / Prince Charming, and following his role last year as Jacob Marley in A Christmas Carol, Keiron Self (My Family, BBC) returns for his seventh Christmas production at the Sherman as the Narrator. Completing the cast will be Lily Beau, Katie Elin-Salt, Kyle Lima, Bethzienna Williams and Sarah Workman.

Cardiff, 1913. Christmas Eve. Stevie’s mum is a Suffragette, fi ghting for the right to vote. But Stevie just wants to fi t in. Meanwhile, in the Grimmdom, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty and Rapunzel are waiting for their Happy Ever After.

But when a storm transports Stevie to this magic land, things begin to change. None of the stories are happening like they were supposed to. Will everything end in disaster? Or can Stevie save the Grimmdom and fi nd her own Once Upon a Time? The Sherman wants to ensure that the cost of tickets is in reach of as many people as possible. Tickets are priced £16 - £27. Two adults and two children can see Tales of the Brothers Grimm from under £50. Children and under 25s can see the show for half price. The Sherman also run a scheme, Pay What You Can Previews, which will allow audiences to pay how much they are able to for Tales of the Brothers Grimm on 26 and 29 November.