Tony Hancock: The Definitive Biography. John Fisher
so precarious and so unsocial. Brian Glanville, in his evocative novel The Comic, inspired by aspects of the Hancock story, summed up the elation: ‘Each fresh laugh was like a charge, giving you power, making you want to go on and on, surpass yourself, excel yourself, till they were laughing so hard that they were right out of control, and you couldn’t hope to make yourself heard.’
Vic Weldon, another Gang Show veteran, has recalled Hancock’s extremely idiosyncratic approach as a solo comic. In one of his ‘gags’ he would point to the front row and, thinking of the proverbial lilies in the field, remark, ‘Look at this lot in their finery. All that gold braid. It makes you go religious and think of the text, “They reap not, nor do they sow, yet Solomon in all his glory could not outshine one of these.”’ In one sketch entitled ‘Rumours’ Tony found himself in a skirt alongside John Beaver and Fred Stone, the leader of that unit, as three charladies caught up in an air-raid, coping with life to their hearts’ content (or discontent) until the arrival of a Duchess played by Robert Moreton. Another sketch featured Tony Melody and ‘Hank’ Hancock in ‘Candle to You’: the presence of two Tonies in the unit necessitated the adjustment in Hancock’s billing, something that would linger into early civilian life. Presumably one of them was in drag. Melody would sing adoringly to Hancock, ‘No one can hold a candle to you,’ in distant anticipation of Morrissey’s success with a similar title, but different song, many years later. One of the lines sung by the pop star may have had relevance: ‘Or am I Frankenstein?’ In his comprehensive survey of forces entertainment, Fighting for a Laugh, Richard Fawkes mentions that Hancock also specialised in one act as a green-faced ghoul.
Melody went on to achieve a solid career playing recurring policemen and as a comedy support in radio and television. Fred Stone’s most memorable moment came in the original London production of Sandy Wilson’s The Boy Friend. Hancock always held him in high regard: ‘He was a very strong personality who managed to keep eleven men who were living as closely as we were in reasonable shape. No matter what he felt personally about anything, it couldn’t interfere with a performance. I was only twenty or so at the time, but it was a great example to me.’ Tony attempted to cling to the philosophy to the end of his career and, for all the distractions and aggravations of his troubled times, for the greater part succeeded. Arthur Tolcher, the harmonica player who achieved notoriety on The Morecambe and Wise Show with his consistent failure to get a note in edgeways, was also around at times, as was the renowned circus clown Jacko Fossett, who must in later life have looked with sympathy upon the man who turned down the Beatles. When Tony asked Jack for advice, his reply was succinct: ‘Go home and work for your mother – you’ll be better off.’ Most notable for subsequent achievement was Rex Jameson, who as the ‘weak-willed and easily led’ Mrs Shufflewick provided the definitive portrayal of a gin-swilling gossip whom Hogarth knew only too well, as the authentic music hall spluttered its last gasp. Most poignantly, Robert Moreton, the bumbling comedian of later Bumper Fun Book fame, who would pave the way for Tony as the tutor on Educating Archie, took his own life when his career appeared to disintegrate in 1957.
Hancock came to see the time he spent under Reader’s influence as crucial to his development as a professional. In an episode of a radio series entitled The Laughtermakers in 1956, he admitted, ‘[So far] I hadn’t found any really satisfactory sort of approach, but those years gave me what I badly needed – confidence and experience. There just isn’t time to get nerves, or think deeply about art, when you’re doing shows in caves, in ships, from the backs of lorries in the desert.’ He could have added, on every single day, in conditions ranging from sub-zero temperatures to desert heat so intense that the sand and the flies competed to cause the greater discomfort, and with little regard for how near the front line they might have been, although in a moment of honesty he once declared that this was never nearer than three miles away. He expounded on the matter for John Freeman: ‘There were only eleven men in the company … you made about fourteen appearances in a show and although you did a lot of things that you weren’t really suited to do, it somehow opened us up a little more and you saw possibilities of expanding in a way that you hadn’t thought of before.’ He failed to add that the RAF stations were the saddest places to play. The comedy actor Kenneth Connor recalled for Fawkes that one end of the mess where the performers would be entertained before or after the show would always be banked high with wreaths and floral tributes for those who had gone missing in action. Throughout a performance it was customary to hear the Tannoy going, ‘Crash crew, stand by,’ while planes would come limping in from raids and those who were lucky enough to emerge from them would come hobbling in to see the end of the show. He doubtless dreamt of Colin on those nights.
But life was not without humour. Hancock loved to tell the tale of how as they unpacked three decks below water level on that first voyage to Algiers, Robert Moreton unwrapped a white dinner jacket from his kitbag, ‘in case there’s a dance on board’. Nor was he unprepared to tell a story against himself. Having decided to respect naval tradition by smoking a pipe for the first time in his life, with all ‘eyes on the distant horizon’ – to quote from the Gang Show anthem – Hancock leaned over the railing in best In Which We Serve fashion and took his first puff. The bowl fell off and plopped into the briny, and Hancock never smoked a pipe again. He shared with George Fairweather another incident, this time recalled from one of Ralph Reader’s auditions. His friend re-enacted it for me: ‘A broad Brummie got up on stage and Ralph said, “What do you do?” He said, “I jump.” He said, “No. What’s your act?’ He said, “That’s my act. I jump.” He said, “What do you mean, you jump?” He said, “Well, I jump and get higher and higher. That’s what I do.” He then stood to attention and he jumped and he jumped and he got so high. It became a standing joke between the two of us. If I phoned him and he asked, “Who’s that?” I would always say, “I jump.” He always knew who it was then, and we were away.’ The adenoidal naivety of the poor sauteur never failed to add to the merriment.
Reader was fond enough of Tony to write a song especially for him, although it is not clear whether this happened during the war or when a later expanded version of the Gang Show went on a conventional theatre tour after the hostilities. The number capitalised on his appearance as an ‘erk’, the service slang – for an aircraftman on the first tier of duty – that captured so brilliantly the forlorn, shambling demeanour of so many who were plunged indiscriminately into the conflict. Both Tunis and Stark had spotted his ability to project the type with comic effect from the stage. As Reader said, ‘I must admit it seemed to come terribly naturally to him.’ The song was called, ‘I’m a Hero to My Mum’, and he sang it straight as a ballad. It took him until 1 June 1946 – ‘a record that was beaten only once, I believe’ – to achieve promotion from Aircraftman Second Class to Acting Sergeant, by which time the war was over. ‘I doubt,’ recalled Hancock, ‘whether I would ever have risen to Acting Sergeant if they hadn’t been so short of NCOs by then and found there was nobody else to produce the Ralph Reader shows. We called them variety shows, but the first one I put on consisted of twelve singers and two comics. So much for variety!’ Hancock would not be demobbed until 7 November 1946. The challenge of turning himself into the star comedian of his dreams awaited him. A letter he wrote to his brother, Roger, from Italy in June 1945 is significant:
Spaghetti is eaten by everybody, though there are several different approaches to it. Some believe in getting one end into the mouth and giving a long hard suck until the spaghetti unravels and vanishes into your mouth with a ‘plop’, while others use the mid-air method which consists of lifting the spaghetti off the plate in a lump between a knife and fork and juggling with it, making frequent determined lunges at it with the teeth. But as it looks as if you’re knitting a balaclava helmet, this can be a bit embarrassing.
His gift for observational humour was already developing. The promise was there.
‘I’m Anthony