The Songaminute Man: How music brought my father home again
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They were canny too: one particular day the lads became aware that there was a copper down the road stopping locals suspected of taking the coal. So they decided to fill up some bags and hide them in the woods until the next morning when one of them could come back to collect them. It was a well-known fact that, if the copper did catch you, he would tell you off and confiscate the coal – before keeping it for himself.
‘There also used to be a big tree at the end of the garden and, one winter, some of the blokes from the street all helped to saw it down,’ says John. ‘The whole street shared that wood for months.’
As they got older, Ted and his gang spent every minute together and as soon as he arrived home from school, he would be straight out the door playing with the other children in the street. The boys were always getting up to mischief and, once they were old enough, the dares and tricks became more challenging. The gang – Joey B, Joey G, Kenny, Walter and Georgie – would head straight for the woods at the back of the garden to build dens or climb their favourite tree. It was thick, old and rotting and, one afternoon, it was decided that the tree was coming down. ‘You got your axe, Kenny?’ Ted shouted at his stocky school buddy striding towards him between the oaks. Kenny grinned, swinging the axe casually, even though it was bigger than him. It was his father’s and he wouldn’t have been too pleased if he’d known his son had taken it. Joey G was with Kenny, his very own axe slung over his shoulder. Joey B was already at the foot of the tree. He was the best climber of the lot of them: ‘Give him a leg-up, Walter.’ Walter dutifully did as he was told and the rest watched as Joey shimmied up to act as lookout.
The group set to work, taking turns to swing at the trunk. It was a test of pre-pubescent strength as much as it was a shared challenge. Ten minutes in and they were sweating like crazy. This was much harder than any of them had imagined and yet no one wanted to give up. A shout cut through the silence – ‘Copper’s coming!’ – from Joey, their lookout. One second of staring wide-eyed at each other, the next they were scrambling through the undergrowth to get away.
Joey B watched from the top of the tree as his friends scarpered. Where were they going? Oh, hell! He jumped. He heard rather than felt his leg break. The next confused thought – before the agony set in – was that he’d only told them he’d seen their mate Cooper coming. Joey B had no idea how long it took his mates to realize he wasn’t trailing behind them; eventually they came slinking back to find him rolling around on the ground, breathing through the pain and begging to be taken to hospital.
Injuries withstanding, the boys would knock for each other and then go off the beaten track, mostly finding places they shouldn’t be. One day that involved heading to the back of the woods, behind the football pitches, where there was an isolation hospital for people with infectious diseases. Patients with tuberculosis, smallpox and diphtheria were tended to by nuns; all the Wednesbury children were banned by their parents from getting too close. There were even rumours it was haunted. All the more reason to play knock and run … or so thought Ted. Although one of those days he wasn’t quick enough and one of the nuns caught a glimpse of him as they all knocked on the door and sprinted away. She marched to the house and told Hilda everything, meaning that Ted was rewarded for his daring with a smack from his mum and a stern warning of what would happen if he ever did anything like that again.
Smacks weren’t rare: Maurice and Hilda were loving but strict. People sometimes assumed that children from big families could get away with anything, but that wasn’t the case with Ted’s family. His parents were caring of course, but if any of the kids stepped out of line they’d come down on them like a ton of bricks. The kids knew that when they walked out of their front door they were representing the family, so they had to look smart and behave. Some mothers used to say, ‘Wait till your dad gets home!’ – but Hilda wasn’t like that. She’d tell them off there and then and once they were disciplined, that was it; there was no waiting around until Dad got home to give them a hiding.
The first nine years of Ted’s life were set against the threat, and then the reality, of war. The young boys would often hear the distant roar of engines and, a few minutes later, they would look up and see the skies had turned black as the bombers flew across to Germany. When Ted was small, Hilda and Maurice did all they could to keep things normal for the children, but the stark realities were impossible to hide and the constant threat of bombing was the main source of angst for the adults, even if the children enjoyed the drama. At the back of the house a small air-raid shelter had been built with care by Maurice just before the war started. Whenever the air-raid sirens went off, Hilda, Maurice and the elder McDermotts hushed the babies and placed them gently in drawers that they covered with blankets while the rest of the family squeezed into the shelter. As she always did, Hilda would stand on the doorstep shouting for all the kids by name, until every single one of them came running down the street and flying into the shelter. Once they were all safely inside she would get in herself, satisfied that everyone was accounted for.
But life wasn’t always that dramatic and, even if the war did bring stress for the adults, the McDermott household was still one of routine, where everyone was expected to pull their weight. All the children had a job for the week that they needed to finish before playing out. Whether it was helping out Hilda in the kitchen, cleaning the carpets, folding the washing, clearing the garden or doing errands, everyone mucked in and did their part. Ted’s brother Fred remembers that on a Sunday, Maurice would be around to help with Hilda’s chores. His way of distracting himself and the others was to break into song, giving them rendition after rendition of old classics as they mopped, dusted, changed beds and beat rugs. ‘We couldn’t play out with our mates until those chores were done,’ says Fred. ‘You’d either have to take the rug up off the floor, give it a sweep, or clean the kitchen or sweep up outside.’
The eventual arrival of VE Day saw the whole of Friar Park out in the streets in celebration. Ted and the rest of the gang stood in the street as all the adults from the entire neighbourhood brought tables and chairs out for a huge party. Cakes were baked, bonfires were lit and drinks were poured. Ted had never seen anything like it in his life. The atmosphere was electric.
Normal life slowly resumed after 1945 and, to the children for whom air-raids and shelters were the norm, the war and all that came with it suddenly went away. The stories became fewer as people stopped talking about it so much and the old rhythm eventually returned to Wednesbury.
Chapter 2
The veil of war eventually lifted and, although Ted was only young, the feeling of uncertainty the war had brought with it had a very real effect on him as it did many others. To Ted, everything was temporary, and it soon became apparent that he had to enjoy every single day. He started looking for signs of life beyond messing about in the woods after school with his mates. While Hilda and Maurice carried on with the normal day-to-day routine, the end of the war opened up a curiosity in Ted and, somehow, more seemed possible. But despite his dreams for something more, supporting his family was the priority.
In his early teens, Ted took on as many odd jobs as he could handle, bringing in the extra pennies to help feed the still-growing family. He’d wake up at the crack of dawn to help deliver milk from the horse and cart, while every Monday he’d be wheeling an old pram around to all the women in the street, collecting their husband’s suits and taking them to a pawn shop in Darlaston. On a Friday he would collect them again so all the men could be suited and booted at the weekend.
Around this time, Ted formed what would become a lifelong habit of trying out different things he thought would make him happy and give him purpose, with varying degrees of success. Like most other boys on the estate, he had a strong interest in football, but it was his love of music that was his true passion.
This musical love affair began with Maurice taking the teenage Ted along to the local pub, The Coronation – nicknamed The Cora, one Saturday night. The Cora was a huge pub, built in the early 1930s when the rest of the Friar Park estate was still under construction. Back then in the 1950s it was packed every night – it had a smoke room, a kids’ room and a huge assembly room where bands could play. It was rough and ready but a magnet for local musicians and became known as the place to be. There he saw first-hand the magic of stepping up in front of the crowd and performing. Maurice would arrive like royalty, spend a few minutes chatting to his friends, and then be the first one up to sing. His favourite song was ‘Marta’ by Arthur Tracy and it was a real crowd-pleaser. By the end of his performance, the audience would be on its feet applauding. Maurice would then return to the bar, greeted by a series of backslaps and handshakes, before finding the drinks lined up waiting for him as Ted looked on in awe.
Ted soon found himself walking in his father’s footsteps when, aged 15, he left school and began working alongside Maurice at the Deritend forge. Everyone in the family had traditional roles – men went out to graft and Hilda would prepare a big portion of something hearty for lunch, and it was sometimes Marilyn’s (one of Ted’s younger sisters) job to deliver it to the working boys, whose stomachs were groaning by midday. They all knew her down at the factory and would let her walk straight in – there was no Health and Safety in those days – and as she watched them eat she was bowled over by how hard the men had to work, with the sweat pouring off them from their morning shift. Years later she remarks: ‘All the men had sweated so much that, by the end of the shift, they could stand their trousers up because of all the salt.’
The family work ethic was ingrained in Ted and he worked as much as he could, finally feeling as if he was earning his keep as well as bringing home a bit extra that he could spend on himself. He’d often work a 6 a.m. to 2 p.m. shift, come back home to Kent Road, then if there was extra work going, he would return to the factory and do the late shift until 10 p.m. At the end of the week he’d come home with his wages and hand Hilda the overtime.
‘Come on, Big’ Un, you’re a young lad, you need the cash!’ she’d say.
But Ted would have none of it: ‘No, Muv, you need it more than me. You’re the one with all the mouths to feed! Buy one of the kids some new shoes. Our Jane could do with a new pair,’ he’d say, walking out the kitchen before she could say anything else on the subject.
It was around the same time that Ted and his friends began to head down to the local church youth club, nicknamed The Shack. It was free entry most nights, but on special occasions, when the organizer, Mr Turner, had booked a band or a singer, there was a small charge on the door. Those nights were like a military operation for Ted. He would pay a shilling to enter, then go to the toilets to pass his ticket to Joey B, who would do the same to Kenny and Walter as they crouched outside underneath the window, hands stretched out to receive the illegal ticket.
On Saturday nights everyone made an effort to look the part, as it was the social highlight of the week for most of them – Ted’s brother-in-law, Tony, remembers:
‘All the boys wore their best suits and had their hair flattened down with Brylcreem. But however smart the crowd looked, it was Ted who always stood out. He’d walk in and command instant attention in his cream-coloured raincoat and white silk scarf. All the girls, whatever their ages, would swoon. He was the nearest thing to Dickie Valentine they’d ever seen.’ Even then Ted had the women in the palm of his hand without really knowing it; he just had a presence that made everyone stop and take notice.
By now, Ted had stopped relying on Hilda’s make-do-and-mend policy when it came to his clothes. As he was growing up, Hilda had prided herself on making most of the children’s clothes herself, going down to Birmingham Rag Market, buying second-hand garments, washing them, unpicking them, then sewing them all back together so they always looked brand new. But for Ted, that all stopped when he began to take charge of what he wanted to wear and carved out his own sense of style. He’d inherited Hilda’s pragmatic approach to work and knew it was an important means to an end. If you wanted something, you had to look the part – that was half the battle.
That applied to making the right impression at The Shack. It was a small place with plastic chairs and tables, nothing fancy or glamorous, but it was always full. Ted’s friends, however, were a different kettle of fish, and, unlike him, listening to the music wasn’t really their top priority. They were at The Shack for one reason only – and that was to chat up girls. This mission often backfired as they spluttered their way through most introductions and the girls soon tired of their boyish attempts at wooing and went off to laugh and dance together. There was a routine to every Saturday night, which started with trollies of tea and buns being brought round. Then the lights were turned down, the glitter ball switched on and the dancing began. Ted’s brother Ernie was always the first on the dance floor and soon both brothers became popular with the girls – Ted because of his looks and Ernie because of his moves.
But it wasn’t just Ted’s dress sense that made him stand out. As soon as Mr Turner brought out that record player, Ted would be singing along. Like his father he appeared to have very little fear of getting up onstage. After a while Ted acquired a name for having a voice like velvet and the young audience couldn’t get enough of him. They shouted and clapped encouragement and sang along approvingly as he got going. Being onstage and singing in front of a crowd was the most freeing feeling he’d ever experienced and he soon became addicted.
One Saturday, after Ted and his friends had become regulars at the club, Mr Turner announced that they’d booked a professional singer for the following week, which meant that it was going to cost everyone an extra sixpence to get in. There was much talk about who’d be coming and if there would still be the usual routine of tea, buns and dancing. It was a big deal and, the next week, the crowd was full of teenagers all dressed up, waiting to hear the mystery performer. There were also an unusual number of couples swaying in corners. It was clear that the smart-thinking boys had asked the girls they liked on a date that night – keen to impress with a booked performer and lively crowd.
Eventually the singer arrived, dressed up to the nines in a tuxedo – you could have heard a pin drop as he handed his pianist the music. Then he started singing. It took the crowd a while to register what was happening – there were no romantic crooning or show-stopping tunes; it was straight-down-the-line opera and it went down like a lead balloon. Ted’s brother-in-law Tony reminisces: ‘The room was full of teenagers used to Dickie Valentine and Jimmy Young and here was this guy singing arias. You can imagine the crowd’s reaction.’
A voice from the audience bellowed: ‘What the bloody hell is this?’ and suddenly everyone else joined in, making it clear this was not the night they had expected. After his third song, the singer announced that he’d be back after a break.
‘Dow bother!’ someone shouted from the crowd. ‘We dow want you back!’
By this time the whole room was booing and a near-riot was brewing. Mr Turner was trying his best to calm everything down, when suddenly someone shouted out: ‘Ted! Give us a song!’ Soon the whole crowd was chanting: ‘Teddy Mac! Teddy Mac! Teddy Mac!’
The opera singer walked off the stage in disgust.
‘And take your piano player with ya!’ shouted one of the boys.
Everyone jeered.
The pianist and the opera singer stormed out, with Mr Turner running after them apologizing. There was a huge cheer as Ted took the microphone and started to sing. He was up there for over an hour and he felt as if he was on top of the world, watching the crowd going wild, cheering him on and clapping loudly. Ted had saved the day but, more importantly, in that moment he realized that this was exactly what he wanted to do with his life.
Obviously his moment of fame meant that Ted became a Saturday-night regular, and he was soon packing out the little club whenever he got up and sang. But it didn’t take his brothers and friends long to work out that part of his attachment to the club was because someone had caught his eye – and they weren’t wrong. Ted was bowled over the minute he spotted a girl named Iris across the crowded room. Iris had an abundance of dark brown hair, she was beautiful and stylish and a couple of years younger than Ted, and he soon forgot about the group he had arrived with. He plucked up the courage to go over and introduce himself.
At 17 years old there was no doubt that Ted was a charmer (Hilda always used to say that he’d definitely inherited Maurice’s gift of the gab). He held out his hand and asked Iris for a dance. From that moment, Ted began to court Iris with a winning mixture of innocence and determination.
Ted’s brother Maurice says: ‘Things settled into a romantic pattern quite quickly – they would meet at the club, dance and laugh and then Ted would walk Iris home and wait until she got safely into her house. After a few weeks of the same routine they had slipped into officially being a couple without anyone noticing – except for Mom, who noticed everything.’
There was no denying the mutual feelings – Ted was attentive, gentle and caring, making sure that Iris knew he liked her. Despite not having much money he always saw to it that he gave her a little gift at the end of each date night, even if it was just a slab of chocolate that cost him a shilling. But what Ted hadn’t bargained for was the merciless teasing from his mates once they found out Iris’s age!
It was around this time that The Carroll Levis Discovery Show turned up in Birmingham searching for new talent. Carroll Levis was a Godlike figure in the entertainment industry during the Fifties, a talent scout, impresario and radio personality – he knew what it took to be a star and could spot that quality a mile away. Ted heard on the grapevine that his talent show was touring the country looking for someone with ‘it’ and he was determined to try out, taking the morning off work to go along to the audition. He took the bus from Wednesbury into the centre of Birmingham and made his way to the auditions alone. Although just 17, he was far from worried about having to get up and sing. Out of everything in his life, he knew that was the one thing he was good at. Ted knocked them out by singing ‘Sweet Sixteen’ and got through to the next round, which was a recording of the radio programme in London. But sadly it was not to be. As Jane, his sister, adds: ‘No one really knows the full story as it’s lost in time. It could have changed his life if he went. Someone once said that it was because the contestants had to pay insurance to appear on the show – something our Ted couldn’t afford – and he didn’t end up going.’
For now, singing professionally remained a dream that he couldn’t afford to pursue, in more ways than one.
Ted bringing in a wage (along with the eldest of his younger brothers) did take the pressure off Hilda and Maurice and the younger boys as it allowed them to enjoy their childhoods in a relaxed way – they all loved football and they played for the local team. They devoted themselves to football in the same way Ted committed to his music; the big problem was that the older brothers only had one pair of football boots between them, which often led to a big showdown.
Hilda soon cottoned on to this – but rather than keeping them under lock and key so that everyone got a turn, she thought this could be a valuable lesson for the boys: ‘If you make the effort and get up early then you’ll reap the reward.’ The only thing she was adamant about was that all of them made sure the boots were clean and ready for the next person to use.
While the younger lads were bickering over boots and who scored the most goals, Maurice loved working with his eldest son and felt a huge sense of pride watching him learn the ropes. But despite the happy routine they had, which included Hilda making them both a full breakfast in the morning and putting out their work clothes all freshly pressed, they both knew that National Service was looming when Ted turned 18. He was a man now but that didn’t stop the whole family dreading his departure – in many ways he was a big part of the glue that held the household together and a great support to Hilda, who wondered what would happen to her son when he was away from her watchful eye.
In the meantime, Ted and Iris’s innocent and charming courtship continued. Ted would take Iris to the bandstand to listen to music and sit on the bus holding her hand, telling her how beautiful she was.
‘Yam [you are] the air I breathe,’ Ted would tell her constantly.
‘Come on now, Ted, you’re embarrassing me,’ she’d reply.
Looking back at this time, Iris recalls: ‘Ted was always open about his emotions and wasn’t shy about saying what he felt. But I was young and I used to get embarrassed when he’d tell me stuff. It’s like he wanted everyone to know how he felt. I’d sit there holding his hand on the bus and I’d be bright red. He was ever so gentle, honestly. He would always tell me, “Yam beautiful.” Looking back now, it was nice if you think about it …’
Iris was soon round at 18 Kent Road nearly every night of the week, waiting for Ted to finish work. According to his brother, John: ‘Everyone loved Iris and she quickly became part of our family. Mum loved her being around – she’d help out around the house whenever she could, even looking after us little ones. She was ace.’
Iris had a very different backstory to Ted’s – her parents had died when she was young (her father of a brain tumour when she was a toddler followed by her mother from tuberculosis when Iris was 11) and she had been adopted by her nan. Ted found this heartbreaking to imagine, given how close he was to his own parents and how much he enjoyed coming from a big and loving family. Meeting Iris opened up a deep sense of emotion in him, she says: ‘I think he used to feel so sorry for me because I hadn’t got a mum and dad and had to live with my nan.’
Despite a few emotional differences, the young couple found something in one another and quickly became inseparable. They both had a good set of friends, but Ted had never been one to go off drinking with the rest of his mates. ‘Honestly, he could sit with me all night, talking away about what he’d done that day and what we could do at the weekend, and that’s how he liked it,’ says Iris.
They slotted easily into each other’s worlds – her friends thought she had struck gold with an adoring, older boyfriend who showered her with attention, his friends thought she was a stunner. Iris even became the football girlfriend, going along every Saturday to cheer on Ted from the sidelines. She would arrive with a big bag of oranges bought from the local fruit and veg stall, ready to cut them up and hand them out to the whole team at half-time.
But National Service was just around the corner, and before any of them could really feel prepared, they were saying goodbye to Ted as he went off for sixteen weeks of training in Litchfield, leaving Hilda full of worry and Iris counting down the days until they were reunited. Not knowing what was ahead of him, Ted put on a brave face, shouted his goodbye to Maurice, kissed Hilda farewell and made his way down Kent Road to begin a new chapter. Living through a war had taught them all to expect the unexpected – you just didn’t know what was waiting round the corner.