A Write Carry On: The Untold Story Of A Man In The Shadows - Author: Mike Cobley - Publisher: Wholepoint Publications (wholepoint.co.uk) - 18th June 2012 - The story of Talbot 'Tolly' Rothwell, one of the great unsung heroes of British comedy writing (Carry On films, Up Pompeii! and The Crazy Gang).
Showing posts with label Peter Butterworth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Peter Butterworth. Show all posts
Sid James was wandering the perimeter of the small paddock that sat at the rear of Talbot 'Tolly' Rothwell's house. Tolly was, at the time, deep into his stint of being screenwriter to twenty-two of the iconic Carry On films series.
Sid was alone and looking somewhat haggard as I slipped out into the midday summer's sun and sat on a small bench at the side of the paddock.
He was dressed in khaki coloured slacks and an open lose fitting untucked check shirt. His sandals, like much of what he was wearing, looked very much on their last legs.
For at least ten minutes Sid kept his distance and remained deep in thought. From inside Tolly's house the sound of Kenneth Williams and Barbara Windsor holding court was clearly one of the reasons Sid was braving the direct intensity of the sun's rays. Kenny Williams wasn’t his cup of tea – that was common knowledge.
Later we were joined by Tolly. He patted me on the head and smiled and then ambled over to Sid and gave the actor a hearty pat on the back.
‘All right, old chap?’
‘That bloody Williams is getting on my tits, Tolly. I know I shouldn’t rise to it, but the way he looks down his nose at me and talks over the end of my sentences, drives me mad.’
‘He means well, Sid. Anyway, food's up and we are all about to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to Jim (Dale). Join us, come on.’
With that Sid wandered over, grabbed me by the arm and said: ‘If I ain’t getting out of this neither are you.’ We entered the house, painted on our smiles, opened our mouths and sang ‘happy birthday’ to a rather squiffy looking Jim Dale.
To read more on Kenneth Williams, Jim Dale, Sid James, Barbara Windsor and the rest of the Carry On cast and crew .. buy a copy of A Write Carry On .. JustCLICK HERE
Watching an actor learn his lines is tantamount to
watching paint dry. Even when said actor is Kenneth Williams and said lines
will only be witnessed by the lucky few who squeeze into an unremarkable
village hall.
It was a few days shy of Christmas and Kenneth had
arrived at Talbot ‘Tolly’ Rothwell's (Carry On scriptwriter), house with just
three hours to learn his lines, rehearse his scenes and partake in a dress
rehearsal.
So, with time short .. Kenneth did none of the above
three. Instead he put on a show there and then, to an audience of just three.
Tolly, my dad and myself sat enraptured, though a
little intimidated, as Kenneth delivered uncensored anecdotes on the behind the
scenes going-ons of his fellow Carry On stars.
The air was blue, Tolly and my dad were blushing and
fidgeting awkwardly in their chairs .. while I was in seventh heaven. Kenneth
noted my youthful abandon and delivered many of his cutting/killer punchlines
down his long nose and directly to my lugholes.
With an hour till showtime he tired of us and was
whisked away to the local village hall. By all accounts, he adlibbed the local
amateur dramatic society off of the stage, endeared himself to few of those in
attendance, and loved every minute of the unforgettable and outrageous scene
had he created.
My dad dined-out on the story
for years to come. As time passed he somewhat elevated his part in that night’s
proceedings. He really should have known better. There was only one performer
that night, and he played a blinder!
To read more on Kenneth Williams and the rest of the Carry On cast and crew .. buy a copy of A Write Carry On .. JustCLICK HERE
Barbara ‘Babs’ Windsor adored a bit of Motown and was more
than a little partial to the sounds that emanated from the Stax label.
But thanks to fellow Carry Oners Sid James and Peter Butterworth, Talbot ‘Tolly’ Rothwell’s turntable spun to the antiquated dreariness
of the crooners (Frank Sinatra, Perry Como and Bing Crosby).
As the Carry On scriptwriter, Tolly wasn’t high on the
pecking order when it came to selecting the aural ambience of his abode, especially
on those rare weekends when the stars came out and illuminated the sleepy
little Sussex village of Fulking.
But Babs was no shrinking violet, and often once the whisky
and wine was in full flow, Tolly’s wall mounted speakers would throb to the wah-wah
guitars and hard driving beat of The Temptations ‘Cloud Nine’. That’s when
things got interesting .. especially if Kenneth Williams was in residence!
At first Kenneth would moan and bemoan the sudden
competition for the room’s attention. He may have told his anecdotes many times
over, but there was always an audience hanging on his every word.
It wouldn’t be long before young Ken would note Sid James’
disdain at the ongoing racket, and that’s when, without a second thought,
Kenneth would jump raft and come down on the side of the good ship, Windsor.
‘Turn it up, Barb’, he would scream. ‘Come on everyone, are
we the only ones ‘ere with a pulse?’ Babs would love it, I loved it .. and
Tolly would just give that ‘wink’ of his and retire graciously to the rear
garden.
The battle had been won. Soon, the likes of Marvin Gaye, The
Isley Brothers, Martha and the Vandellas, Booker T. & the M.G.'s, Eddie
Floyd and Wilson Pickett would drive Sid and his compatriots out of both the
house and the party spirit. Kenneth may have been left with a much diminished audience, but it was an audience all the same!
The first time I met Kenneth Williams we were stood, along with Jim Dale, in the front room of Talbot ‘Tolly’ Rothwell’s house. Tolly was the then scriptwriter of the much lovedCarry On films (and Kenneth Williams and Jim Dale were two long serving actors of the successful series).
Kenneth was bleating. He did that a lot. If you were in another room with a crowd of chattering people, then that not-so-far-away sound of bleating was more than likely to be the sound of Kenneth Williams holding court.
For when Kenneth was in a room 1/ he was never alone, and 2/ he was the king of all he surveyed and the others were there merely to listen.
‘Is this where you get felt?’ These were the first words Kenneth Williams uttered in my presence. I was barely into my teens and took his query to be one pertaining to non-woven cloth and not the sexually charged nod-and-a-wink meaning he had in mind.
Jim Dale piped-up in my defence and asked Kenneth to pipe-down. ‘He knows I’m only having a laugh, don’t you?’ I smiled back. Kenneth then asked my name and how come I happened to be at Tolly’s gaffe at the same time as comedy royalty.
I explained that Tolly and my dad had been friends since school and that we were often here at weekends. ‘Well, good for you. And what fine profession have you got your eye on,’ inquired Kenneth.
‘I want to be a vet.’
‘A vet. Dirty job. All those hours with you hands up strangers’ arses. What drew you to that?’
‘James Herriot. Well his books, I love them.’
‘Good for you,’ smiled Kenneth. ‘Read and ye shall find.’ He then broke his attention away from me, realised the bulk of guests were in another room .. and the next I heard was the not-so-distant sound of a bleating sheep.
To read more on Kenneth Williams and the rest of the Carry On cast and crew .. buy a copy of A Write Carry On .. JustCLICK HERE
It was the dying
embers of an all-too-rare long hot summer and my parent's social life was about
to peak when an unexpected invitation arrived for them to be among the select
guests at aPreston Nomads versus celebrities charity cricket match.
The Preston Nomads
were based in the village of Fulking, at the foot of the South Downs, in East Sussex, and it was a ground I knew well as Carry On
scriptwriter, Talbot 'Tolly' Rothwell, was an honorary member of the club.
I'd spent many a
summer's Sunday basking in the tradition of drunken men swinging wood at
leather and berating the inevitable early loss of their open wicket. The game itself
meant little to me; the open space, relaxed atmosphere and copious amounts of
sugary offerings were a different matter.
We’d spent the morning at Tolly’s while my dad took it
upon himself to be chief motivator and bottle washer .. i.e he was getting in
the way and taking the coming proceedings far too seriously.
Sid James, Peter Butterworth and Jim Dale arrived just
before we left for the game. I sat next to Jim Dale on the short journey and
I’m sure I sensed nerves among his quick wit and boyish charms.
From the first over onwards it became pretty clear
that the batting total of the local Preston Nomads side was likely to cause
embarrassment to the celebrities’ final score. So Eric Sykes took it
upon himself to the play the clown, a role he was born too.
His one-liners, fake falls, mimed catches and
impersonations brought the host side to its knees .. not an easy position to
bat from. The obviously superior Nomads side saw their batting order collapse
in just a few short overs.
After whisky-laced refreshments, Tolly and his band of
misbehaving brothers stepped up and took under an hour to pass the Nomads
total.
Victory was theirs, and the drinks were free. Celebrations
went on long into the evening and my dad rescued me from the debauchery not
long before its effects would’ve left a permanent scar on my emotional development!
To read more on Sid James, Jim Dale and the rest of the Carry On cast and crew .. buy a copy of A Write Carry On .. JustCLICK HERE
I was proud of my unbranded 49cc moped. It sat in the
family driveway, dripping petrol and oil fuel mixture and rust.
On a whim and a
prayer I rose one Saturday morning and decided that I was now competent enough
to dispense with endless rides around local streets and cut a path across the South
Downs and pay a visit to the Carry On scriptwriter, and firm family friend,
Talbot 'Tolly' Rothwell.
Following a hearty breakfast and quick safety check of
the moped, it was chocks away - followed by a frantic pedal - and the engine
spluttered into some semblance of life.
The journey, from my Brighton home to the village of Fulking, was both slow and painful.
I arrived without warning and was greeted by Tolly as
though he'd been waiting for me all my life.
He invited me to his kitchen and we sat and chatted
over a cup of tea. He seemed nervy and a little distracted.
The root of his unease was a looming deadline for submission
of a Carry On script. It was the script that was to be his last in the series.
Tolly's health had been failing. Recently he'd found
himself sat in front of his typewriter keyboard, unable to recognise the workings of its qwerty layout.
The clock was ticking and Tolly and was seeing his professional
life passing before his eyes.
He parted with the shocking news that he was having to
dictate the script to his daughter so that even though the deadline had been
missed, at least the it would eventually make it on to the desk of Carry On
producer, Peter Rogers.
To read the full account of Tolly's breakdown and the final days of his Carry On scriptwriting career .. buy a copy of A Write Carry On .. JustCLICK HERE
I contacted Cass Adams in the hope of setting up an interview
with Colin Meloy of The Decemberists. She’s a busy freelancer working out of Portland, Oregon,
and I thought she’d be sympathetic to a new book I was undertaking (The
Americana Hour – coming March 2013). But all Cass wanted to talk about was my
current book, A Write Carry On. No probs, I thought, so here’s what wasn’t
meant to be .. Cass Adams interviews me about A Write Carry On!
Cass Adams (CA): Mike, it’s so great to be able to chat with
someone who actually met the Carry On cast. Here in the US we love the
English humour, though I think sometimes the lines get blurred. Were the Carry
On films of the late 60s and early 70s really like life on the streets of England?
Mike Cobley (MC): Well it’s good to hear the Carry Ons are
appreciated away from these shores. I guess, in all honesty, that period you
mention was, in actuality, very different from what was on screen. I think that
had to be the case really, otherwise people wouldn’t have been drawn to the cinema.
Movies are an escape from real life. No-one wants to work Monday to Friday and
then pay to go and see their life reflected back at them from the big screen.
But having said that, they do need to identify with the
humour and characters. Much like music, there has to be a connection. Whether
it is a bumbling doctor, scary matron or leery older man, they all know someone
in real life who fits the bill.
CA: Kinda guess that makes sense. But what about the sexual
politics? No way, these days, could men be so overtly sexist and controlling of
women. How did women view the Carry On humour back then?
MC: I remember being in the pub (bar to you guys) and
hearing women turn on Talbot Rothwell (the Carry On scriptwriter) and tell him
that if their husbands treated them that way they’d be out the door with a good
clip round the ear. Then again, in the same breath they admitted they found it
funny. Because, if you watched closely, often the women came out on top anyway
(no pun intended). Yes it is cringe worthy viewing now, and much of the humour
is of its time, but what is timeless is the Carry On cast. People’s love for
the likes of Sid James, Kenneth Williams, Barbara Windsor, Charles Hawtrey and
the rest, burns as bright today as it did back then. Sometimes it’s hard to
separate the actors from the characters.
CA: I guess that’s where the genius of the writer comes in?
CA: Was very interested that in A Write Carry On you mention
how outside of the circleFrankie Howerd was. There’s a sad little bit where
you describe Frankie leaving a Carry On party alone.
MC: I was sat on a hill observing all those great actors as
they stumbled out of Talbot Rothwell’s front door and were whisked away in a
fleet of vehicles. Sid James was all touchy feely, Kenneth Williams was loud,
brash and appeared to believe the party had been in his honour. Meanwhile poor
Frankie Howerd emerged into the fading daylight with his head bowed and
shoulders slouched. He looked so detached and
lonely, much as he had at the party. Tears of clown, I guess!
CA: Finally, I feel I must ask you about Talbot Rothwell
himself. You describe beautifully your relationship with him (you as a shy and
awkward teenager and him as fatherly figure) but on his death bed you seemingly
would have nothing to do with him. What changed, what went wrong?
MC: It was all my fault. The only change in Talbot Rothwell
was his health. He suffered a depilating stroke, as well as an earlier
breakdown, and wasn’t able to speak for the last few years of his life, whereas I went through puberty and emerged on the otherside as a punk/mod. I still
believe totally in the ideals and beliefs I took from those movements, but what
I’m not proud of is how, in viewing Talbot’s generation as the old guard, I
dismissed a lot of relationships in my life which,
for one reason or another, I was never able to mend.
CA: I love the (book's) cover. Think I’m right in saying that the
faces we see are those ofSid James and Barbara Windsor. But is that you with
your back to us?
MC: You certainly are right about Sid and Barbara, but it is
Talbot Rothwell with his back to us.
The cover’s designer, Mandy Hills, was conveying Talbot’s
place as ‘the man in the shadows’, when it came to the public’s perception of
all things Carry On.
CA: Note you went with a publisher (Wholepoint Publications)
for the digital release of A Write Carry On. Wouldn’t it have been easier to
put it out yourself?
MC: Wholepoint Publications is very much built around an
ethos, one shared by those with a Mod leaning. On these shores the whole musical
tribal thing defines many people’s lives from puberty to the grave. Iain Munn’s
digital publishing house is a Mecca
for those of us who believe in the Mod maxim of 'clean living under difficult
circumstances.’ I wouldn’t have considered putting the title with anyone else,
so it’s lucky for me Iain said ‘yes’!
With thanks to Cass Adams c.adams@musicspectaor.com for the use of this interview. It will appear in full in a Portland, Oregon, publication at a later date.
A Write Carry On available for just £2 .. CLICK HERE
As if those tender teenage years aren’t bad enough. Then there
are family gatherings, birthdays and long Christmas breaks spent with many-a
relative you would normally cross the road to avoid. Add to that torrid
adolescent mix a house full oficonic British comedy legends and what do you
have? You have my early life with the Carry Ons!
A Write Carry On (Wholepoint Publications) catalogues
my intimate times spent with many of the Carry On regulars.
The likes of Sid James, Barbara Windsor, Joan Sims, Frankie Howerd,
Charles Hawtrey, Jim Dale and Kenneth Williams fell into my orbit via long-time
Carry On scriptwriter, Talbot ‘Tolly’ Rothwell.
Tolly changed, for the better,
my outlook on humanity, nature and the arts. He also parted with lots of
previously untold stories on the life and times of his Carry On years.
I now want to share these unique insights with you. So CLICK HERE and, for an introductory price of just £2, grab yourself a copy of A Write Carry On.
Oooh noo, please, it’s wicked to mock the afflicted! Well it might be one of your own! Don’t laugh at her, she might want paying - I told her this was an audition! She’s known to me as Madam Vera Roper, but she’s known to everyone else as The English Open! (Frankie Howerd introducing Mrs Vera Roper, his pianist, who was deaf.)
Imagine growing up with the Carry Ons. Getting to hobnob on a regular basis with the likes of Sid James, Barbara Windsor, Frankie Howerd, Charles Hawtrey, Jim Dale and Kenneth Williams. Well, I was that lucky guy.
The catalyst for my meetings with the cream of saucy British comedy was Talbot‘Tolly’ Rothwell. Tolly wrote the scripts for twenty-two of the big-screen Carry Ons, and was a close family friend for all of those glorious mega-grossing box office years. A Write Carry On catalogues not only his eleven years with the Carry Ons, but also Tolly’s time as a Second World War captive at the notorious POW camp, Stalag Luft III (best known for two famous prisoner escapes that took place there by tunnelling, which were depicted in the films The Great Escape (1963) and The Wooden Horse (1950), and the books by former prisoners Paul Brickhill and Eric Williams from which these films were adapted).
Along the way you will get a behind-the-scenes peek at the lives and personalities of all the major Carry On stars. There were a lot of laughs but also a few tears. Oh, and the odd illicit affair too!
"Infamy! Infamy! They've all got it in for me!" - Kenneth Williams - Carry On Cleo (1964)
To buy a copy at the introductory price of just £2 CLICK HERE
Carry
On scriptwriter Talbot ‘Tolly’ Rothwell had remained particularly close to one
fellow prisoner of war (POW). Peter Butterworth shared his humour and outlook, together they used their ability to construct witty camp plays to the advantage
of all the POWs.
While
plays and sketches were performed, escape was a possibility. The uproar of
laughter easily distilled the rhythmic sound of men digging tunnels.
As
the day’s routine of work and punishment gave way to an evening’s lock-down,
Tolly and Peter would work hard on the next camp show script.
What
the men, and some of the guards, loved most were the double entendres. They
missed the warmth and intimacy of female companionship, and Tolly’s ability to conjure
up magically side-splitting one-liners had them quoting his scripts for weeks
on end.
Slowly
but surely excess earth was moved and tunnels began to appear. The men would
use the opportunity of the weekend camp performances to conceal the earth in
their costumes and release it slowly into piles, while the guards were focused
on the crossed-dressed dames who took centre stage.
They
were then able to smooth it over with their feet and no-one was any the wiser
as the men trooped back to their huts.
One
cold winter’s night, after many months of planning, two teams of six men were
ready to make their break for freedom.
Tolly
and Peter were among those to remain, their services to camp moral and future
escape projects deemed too important to lose.
All
twelve escapees lost their lives. Ten while on the loose, two after being
captured and brought back to camp alive. They were unceremoniously tied and
gagged and dispatched by firing squad. With that, the camp concerts came to
end.
Upon
his return to England, Tolly was airlifted to Devon and to the seclusion of a
Dartmoor-based military hospital. He was weak, his wounds were infected and his
spirit broken.
Within
days of his return his family was at his side. A month later he was allowed
home, many months on he was still haunted by the atrocities he’d witnessed.
Carry On regular Charles Hawtrey was a strange one. Everytime I saw him he was sat quietly in a corner of a room keeping himself very much to himself.
It certainly wasn’t the job of a timid teen to make social interaction with someone as seemingly unapproachable as Mr Hawtrey.
My dad had warned me that it was best to stay well clear.He’d barely got a word out of the man. They were less than a year apart in age, yet my dad seemed decades younger. Hawtrey, to my fourteen year-old eye, had the presence and look of a man well past his lifespan.
But he was, without question, a comedy genius. His timing, movement and mere presence in a Carry On scene were enough to raise the neck hairs. He had come to acting as early in life after appearing on a series of recordings as a boy soprano.
Carry On scriptwriter Talbot 'Tolly' Rothwellnever had a bad word to say about the latter day recluse. He once told me that Hawtrey had suffered the fate of many gay men of the day. He’d kept his sexuallity a secret and remained tied to his mother’s apron strings. He also had a tough time of it when she went on develop senile dementia.
His mother was known to horde toilet rolls, as Hawtrey was reported to have hoarded bed knobs for future profit. It was a difficult time to be gay and little is known of Hawtrey’s private life.
I was in the presence of Hawtrey a handful of times. I remember once staring inquisitively at the small man and wondering how Tolly could believe him to be so full of humour.
Once, Hawtrey caught me looking at him and smiled back. I remember feeling sad because his smile had been so full of gloom. It was almost as though the very soul of Hawtrey was trapped.
I liked him, there was a kinship and I could sense a softness. His movements were gentle and he was polite. But sad, very sad.
Charles Hawtrey passed away in 1988 and the age of 73. A strange, private and talented man. I remember him fondly.
