| WAKEY
WA-KEY!
Billy
Cotton, born William Edward in London in May 1899, became
a household name.
His
career as an entertainer began in 1924 when he formed a dance
band and, in 1949, through the medium of radio, he achieved
national fame with The Billy Cotton Band Show transmitted
on Sunday evenings.
Although
Billy Cotton was reluctant to make the change from radio to
television, in 1955 he signed up for a series with ATV.
Saturday
Showtime was not a success so Billy did not make a second
series for independent television.
Returning
to the BBC in 1956, he launched his new show Wakey Wakey,
which took its more familiar title, The Billy Cotton Band
Show, in 1957.
It
always started with his familiar cry: Wakey Wa-akey!"
and then the band would play his theme tune, Somebody Stole
My Gal.
Many
other entertainers launched their careers on the Band Show,
with the most notable being Russ Conway, Mrs Mills and Roy
Hudd.
Billy
Cotton received the Ivor Novello award in 1959 and his show
attracted some of the largest viewing audiences ever recorded.
His
final show was transmitted in July 1968 and he died in March
1969, aged 70, from a heart attack.
See
Billy Cotton online
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The
County Restaurant, in Exchange Street, Norwich, where Roz and Albie
dined on a sumptuous meal of beans on toast – not forgetting
two sweet sherries!
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|
 ALBIE
HAD MADE A GOOD IMPRESSION with Roz’s parents, the Bartons,
who seemed quite relieved that their youngest daughter had, at last,
found a young man who, on the face of it, appeared good mannered,
reasonably well-educated – having attended a grammar school
of renown – and was quite well-spoken for someone with a Norfolk
accent!
STANDING
UNDER A STREETLIGHT,
which did little to brighten the darkness of that early evening
in November, Albie was rather pleased with the little present Roz
had just given him. It may have only been a small snapshot of her,
standing in the garden of her home in Thorpe St Andrew, but it was
a keepsake he was sure to treasure forever.
“I
just don’t know what to say,” Albie said, looking
at the little photograph, “tha’s really nice of you –
but, I’m so sorry, I hen’t got one o’ me to give
you…”
“Never
mind, Albie,” his girlfriend replied, “I just thought
you’d like it – particularly now we’re going steady!”
What
a day it had been, thought Albie; first the train ride up to Norwich
to see Roz, then afternoon tea with her and her parents, followed
by a romantic stroll in the moonlight down the lane, and a glass
of sherry – his very first – at the Santa Lucia Hotel
in Thorpe St Andrew – and now this he thought, glancing
at her happy picture in his hand!
“Thank
you, Roz,” he said, clearly quite taken aback by the little
photo, “I shall pin it above my bed when I get home...”
“…and
talking of home,” he continued, glancing at his watch, “isn’t
it about time we were getting back? We don’t want your mum
and dad to get worried, do we?”
ALBIE
RETURNS HOME IN STYLE
Roz’s
parents were watching television in the front room; Billy Cotton
had just awakened all his viewers with his well-known catch phrase
– ‘Wakey wa-akey’ – and Russ Conway, master
of the ivories, was tinkling away on the piano.
“Hello,
Mum and Dad,” said Roz, opening the door, “Is it all right
if we take Albie home to Sheringham now?”
“Yes,
of course,” replied Mrs Barton, getting up from the settee,
“Dad will take you, but I’ll stay behind if you don’t
mind, so I can get supper ready for when you return!”
“I’ll
go with Albie, if that’s all right?” Roz asked her mother,
“Then Dad will have some company on the way back.”
“Oh,
I see,” laughed Mrs B, “parting is such sweet sorrow for
love’s young dream!”
Putting
on his overcoat and driving gloves, Mr Barton went outside to warm
up his Morris Oxford.
“I
do hope you had a nice time, Albie,” said Mrs Barton, putting
her arms around him and giving him a little kiss, “and we shall
look forward to seeing you again whenever you like.”
How
nice, thought Albie, relieved at how well his day had gone and how
welcome he had been made to feel. “I’ve had a lovely time,
thank you, Mrs Barton,” he replied, as he released himself
from her grip.
“And
thanks so much for a very nice tea – even if we didn’t
have beans on toast!” he laughed.
“I
shall know next time,” replied Mrs Barton, as Albie
and Roz went out the front door and climbed into the back of the
car.
 “Behave
yourself in the back,” chuckled Mr Barton, glancing in his
rearview mirror as he drove out onto the main road. “Don’t
do anything I wouldn’t do!”
“That’s
OK, Dad,” laughed Roz, cuddling up to Albie on the back seat
with her head resting on his shoulder, “we ain’t
misbehavin’!”
“Don’t
get face powder all over my duffle coat,” Albie scolded.
Roz,
taking little notice, turned her face to his, closed her eyes and
pursed her lips in anticipation…
ROZ
MAKES A GOOD IMPRESSION
As
Mr Barton drove his Morris Oxford into Regis Place, in Sheringham,
curtains began to twitch in the quiet cul-de-sac at the sound of
a motor car. Albie’s next door neighbours, the Averys, opened
their front door to see who was having visitors at nine o’clock
on that Saturday evening in November.
Albie’s
parents first heard the car as it stopped outside Regis Cottage.
“Who
on earth do you think that is, Gladys?” asked the lad’s
father, at the sound of someone rattling on the letterbox. “At
this time of night, as well.”
“Tha’s
Albie,” replied his mother, peering out from behind the lace
curtains. “An’ he’s got someone with him!”
“Hello,
Mum,” he said, as she opened the front door, “I’d
like you to meet Roz, my girlfriend, and this is her father, Mr
Barton, who has just brought us home.”
“Pleased
to meet you, I’m sure,” replied Albie’s mother,
putting on her airs and graces. “Oh please do come inside!”
“Well,
maybe just for a few minutes,” said Mr Barton, shaking Albie’s
parents by the hand, “but we must be getting back soon, as
it’s quite a way to Norwich, you know!”
“Besides,”
he added, “Helen, my wife, will be getting supper ready I’ll
be bound.”
“Yes,”
said Roz, giving Albie a big kiss in front of his astonished parents,
“we really must go, but I do look forward to seeing you again
very soon, Mr and Mrs Gray.”
 With
much tooting of the car horn, they drove off into the night leaving
Albie and his parents standing on the doorstep waving their good-byes.
“They
seem very nice – Roz and Mr Barton,” Albie’s
mother declared, “though, such a pity we didn’t
get to meet Mrs B – maybe next time!”
“I
thought you didn’t like me gallivantin’ around with mawthers?”
Albie said, sarcastically.
“Nonsense,
Albie,” his mother replied, “Roz seems very respectable
and quite posh – you could do far worse!”
“But
you said that’ll all end in tears,” Albie protested, determined
for his mother to eat her words.
“Don’t
you dare speak to your mother like that!” said his father,
cuffing him round the ear, “go to bed this instant!”
A
CANDLELIT DINNER FOR TWO
A
few days before the end of the autumn term in 1959, Albie thought
it would be nice to plan a little surprise for Roz as, with Christmas
fast approaching, they would be apart for the best part of three
weeks before returning to the Norwich School of Art in the New Year.
“I
thought, p’raps, Saturday night,” he told Roz, as they
sat together in the Art School canteen drinking coffee, “we
could go out somewhere special, what with Christmas coming
on, wha’d’ya reckon?”
“That
would be really nice, Albie,” she replied, squeezing
his hand lovingly, “how very sweet of you – but where
shall we go?”
Tapping
his nose, that was his little secret he told her, and began making
plans for a very special occasion.
Saturday
night duly arrived and Albie, having travelled up to Norwich by
train, using his season ticket, met Roz off the Number 79 ’bus
just outside Thorpe Station.
They
walked hand in hand through the city streets, up Prince of Wales’
Road and along London Street where, at the end, they turned into
Exchange Street.
“Where
are we going, Albie,” Roz asked, as they walked down
the street past Jarrold’s Department Store, “and just
what have you got planned?”
Albie
just laughed and stopped outside the County Restaurant. “You’ll
see,” he said, “come on.”
At
the top of a flight of stairs they were greeted by a smartly-dressed
waiter, with a crisp white shirt and black bow-tie, and with a napkin
draped over one arm.
“Table
for two, Sir?” he asked respectfully. “We’re quite
busy this evening, but I think we may be able to fit you
in…”
“But,
I did book,” replied Albie, indignantly, “a table
for two, if you like to check...”
“My
apologies, Sir,” said the waiter, “So you did,
Sir – your table is reserved for you and Madam!”
In
a quiet secluded corner of the restaurant – affording a degree
of intimacy for the young couple – was the table for two.
The
waiter then lit the a red candle on their table and then handed
each of them a plush, leather-bound menu.
“But,
tha’s all in French!” gasped Albie, glancing at the menu.
“I can’t understand all that there squit, can you, Roz?”
Not
wishing to spoil their evening by showing him up she shook her head.
“No,” she replied, “I cannot make head or tail of
it either!”
 “Never
mind,” said Albie, laying down the menu, “just leave it
to me!”
Just
then, the pianist, at a rather grand piano, began to play
Ain’t Misbehavin’.
“Oh,
Albie,” said Roz, delighted at his choice of music,
“how did you know it was my favourite tune?”
Albie
just smiled, contentedly, to himself, quietly accepting praise for
what had been a pure coincidence!
“Are
we ready to order now, Sir?” enquired the waiter.
“Two
beans on toast, please,” replied Albie proudly, “and
two sweet sherries, my good man!”
But,
after all, it was Albie’s first time of
wining and dining a lady!
NEXT:
Roz pays Albie a visit on his
birthday!
Please sign Albie’s guestbook
as I would love to hear your comments –
or email:
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