A Gottle of Geer

by Geoff Collins

Sensation! Peter Brough saved Eric Sykes' life!!! This astonishing revelation comes from Sykes' recent autobiography If I Don't Write It, Nobody Else Will. In November 1951, Sykes, not yet a comedian himself, was the scriptwriter for Educating Archie, the odd radio phenomenon that made huge star(s) of sloppy-lipped vent Brough and his dummy, cheeky schoolboy Archie Andrews. Sykes was suffering from persistent agonizing headaches, but doctors were unable to pin this down to a specific ailment. A chance phone call from Brough - to whom Sykes described his painful condition - prompted Brough to send his chauffeur-driven limo to whisk Sykes off to a Harley Street specialist. An acute mastoid infection was diagnosed; if left untreated, Sykes would have been dead within three days. So in spite of all we've said about Brough and his limited abilities, he saved the life of Eric Sykes, who is still around today providing glorious comedy as well as some stunning straight acting (as in The Others). Well done, Groughie! Take an apple out of the barrel, as we say over 'ere.

This may be a good place not to recommend Eric Sykes' Comedy Heroes. The title is irresistible but beware! It's one of the most inaccurate books ever written. He laments the "fact" that Buster Keaton is forgotten and that his films aren't being shown anywhere (!!!), and spectacularly misquotes Rob [sic] Wilton's Home Guard sketch; and a full-page photo of "Jimmy Edwards" is actually Paul Whitsun-Jones. There's so much wrong with this book that it depresses me to think of it still being in circulation, misleading all those potential comedy fans. Where were your researchers, Eric?

While on the subject of ventriloquy, all four of our American readers will be familiar with spasm-jawed Edgar Bergen, the man who inspired "Archie" by proving that ventriloquism works well on the radio; but let's take a few moments to reflect on some British ventriloquists who came along in the wake of Brough's success. You couldn't turn on a British television in the sixties without encountering some rictus-faced charmer with his arm stuck up a block of wood. Here's a selection of some of the best from this Golden Age of Venting:

Bobbie Kimber. A very odd act. When glamorous Bobbie appeared on Opportunity Knocks in the 1970s, returning to showbusiness after a long period of inactivity, host Hughie Green asked the audience dramatically "Is it a man - or a woman?" In fact Ronald Victor Robert Kimberley was a man who chose to do his routines, with a full-sized dummy and a more conventionally-sized "sit-on-the-knee" one, in full drag. No explanation was ever given for this, but Bobbie was a convincing "woman" and a good technician. Maybe he felt the act worked better that way; or maybe he was just a tranny who'd found a wonderful excuse for dressing up. Either way, he was years ahead of his time, one for Aaron's collection of Strange and Wonderful Acts. Good for you, Bobbie.

Saveen and Daisy May. Another strange man. I saw Albert Saveen's act in a summer show at Hastings in the sixties. Schoolgirl "Daisy May" was his main dummy; she had her own bank account and a private telephone number. Roy Hudd has often recounted that Daisy May once answered the telephone when he rang up to speak to Albert; "she" engaged Roy in some idle chit-chat and then said "Albert's not in - I'll ask Mr. Saveen to phone you back." Sure enough, later on Saveen called Roy: "Daisy May says you rang earlier."

Despite these quirks, Saveen was a skilful, wily old variety vent. Aside from Daisy May there was, as I recall, a deliberately unconvincing duck dummy (Charlie Quack-Quack) and a live dog, probably a small terrier of some sort. They don't have acts like that any more!

Neville King. Now we're talking. Neville was hilarious. His main dummy was an irascible old cloth-capped Granddad who violently resisted all attempts to put him "gack in the gox" - culminating in a shockingly realistic altercation which left Neville breathless and disheveled, holding the lid down as the muffled voice of the old sod hurled abuse at him from inside the container.

Dennis Spicer was all smiles and charm, a huge hit at the 1964 Royal Variety Performance; and he may have been the most technically accomplished of all. He had enough elan to select two members of the audience and use them as living dummies, "working" them with a tap on the shoulder. Tragically, Dennis was killed in a car crash shortly afterwards; his dummy, in the car with him, remained intact.

And finally my personal favorite: Terry Hall. Facially similar, in his toothy, smiling way, to Dennis Spicer (to such an extent that a member of the public once asked him "Aren't you that ventriloquist who was killed in the car crash?") Terry started his career with Micky Flynn, the Irish Dummy; but he found lasting fame with a later creation, Lenny the Lion. As a boy I absolutely adored Lenny. Like Snagglepuss and any number of other Lions, Lenny was obviously based on Bert Lahr, complete with American accent and camp hand-flapping mannerisms ("Well!") but he was genuinely appealing. Terry and Lenny are completely forgotten now, but not by me. I also saw them in a Hastings summer show. Happy memories!

We musn't close this little survey without a mention of northerner Arthur Worsley who "said nothing" and looked glum while the dummy subjected him to a torrent of insults; or Roger de Courcey and Nookie Bear; or Ray Alan and his immortal Lord Charles, an inebriated, monocled aristocrat with more than a touch of Fred Emney; or Archie Andrews himself. As reported earlier in our pages, Archie's been sold by the Broughs, for £34000, to a young ventriloquist, so we may yet see a revival of this unique and often derided form of entertainment.

For fans of archaic ventriloquy, the Pathe website has some fascinating clips of Arthur Prince and Jim, as well as a "pre-Archie" Brough; even as early as 1943 he was hiding his lips with a cigar...

.... all of which brings us to dear old Yorkshire comedian Sandy Powell, who in his last years devised a priceless routine as a hopelessly inept military ventriloquist. This was Sandy's revenge on a succession of crappy vents who populated his touring shows over the years. Wheezily spluttering through a huge false moustache, he allowed his hand to become visible through the dummy's neck-hole. "Oh dear - I seem to have given the game away!" God bless you, Sandy. It needed to be done.

More on this subject later!

"Flippin' kid..."

Grough.. I mean Brough.. must have been the luckiest man in showbusiness history. Despite a contemporary reputation as the UK's answer to Edgar Bergen, he was anything but and his tremendous 1950s fame says much about how desperate postwar British audiences were for entertainment. Peter Brough's radio series, Educating Archie, wasn't so much a showcase for his talents as it was an exercise in camouflaging his shortcomings.. even to the point of downplaying Brough's ventriloquism. Brough, as Brough, is largely absent from Educating Archie.. meaning, of course, that Educating Archie was essentially a radio series built around a man affecting a squeaky voice. Nevertheless, the series does have its moments, mostly thanks to a supporting cast that includes such notables as Sid James, Max Bygraves, Tony Hancock, Harry Secombe, and a very young Julie Andrews. The show's theme-song is nicely catchy, too.

These episodes of Educating Archie come courtesy of dummys.org. Please right-click on the titles and choose "save as" so as not to overtax their server.

Guy Fawkes Day (10/30/1950)
The Cinema (10/19/1951)
The Sharp Crease (12/11/1952)
The Red Ink (2/11/1954)
The New Bypass (10/3/1956)
Archie In Australia (9/18/1957)
Brough Gets Fit (10/15/1957)
Around Britain in Eight Days (3/1/1959)

More Stuff on Grough

by Geoff Collins

Great galls of fire! New readers may wonder what this is all about, but our diehard fans - both of 'em - will recall that a while ago I wrote a piece about legendary 1950s dummy Archie Andrews and his rubbery-lipped operator Peter Brough. They were sensational on BBC radio but the inevitability of television appearances soon revealed Brough's diminishing ability to hide the lip movements. Fortunately Brough's dad died [did I just write "fortunately Brough's dad died"???] and so Brough had a convenient excuse to leave showbusiness and take over the family textile business. It must be said, in all honesty, that Brough was a terrible ventriloquist. Even as early as his 1943 pre-Archie routine on www.britishpathe.com (haven't mentioned that for a while!) he was using a cigar to hide his lips, so his dad's demise couldn't have come at a more convenient time.

My original article, detailing the recent sale of Archie for £34000, can be reached on our archive; but the story requires an update. Archie, who is now sixty years old despite being permanently fourteen, was recently interviewed for the Guardian newspaper, and this fascinating article can be found here.

It's almost impossible to improve upon the daftness of this concept: a ventriloquist on the radio. America did it first, with Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy; and while Bergen was undoubtedly technically superior to Brough, his film appearances - especially The Goldwyn Follies - often reveal him to be locked into an alarming clench-jawed facial spasm while Charlie is talking. Oddly enough he seems to recover a bit when Charlie stops talking. I wonder why.

Britain can claim something even more bizarre than this: a magician on the radio. In 1979 I had the good fortune to be able to have a long conversation with South African-born drummer Joe Daniels (1909-93),who in the 30s and 40s was Britain's answer to Gene Krupa ("Joe Daniels and His Hot Shots in Drumnasticks"). We spoke of many things, specifically his long tenure with Harry Roy's band and his blackface double-act with Harry's violinist Maurice Sterndale (in 1931 they toured in Variety as the Two Black Aces and made a 78 for Sterno, very much in Moran and Mack vein but with musical interludes). Joe was more interested in unloading his lifelong grudge against holiday-camp king Fred Pontin, for whom he worked in the jazz-free wilderness of 1960s England; so we never got around to discussing his elder brother Sid Daniels (1900-82),alias Sirdani. Joe's lively little band can be seen on the Pathe website - this clip is Highly Recommended - and Pathe also has two examples of Sid's act. In the earliest clip "Sirdani the Indestructible!" Sid sticks various objects into himself (the Pathe site must be running white hot already!) stamps about on broken glass, and demonstrates an ancient art, handed down through countless generations: eating gramophone records. All this is accompanied by a sickeningly crunchy soundtrack. Ugh!

By the end of the 30s Sid had developed a much less repellent presentation (this later clip is excerpted as part of a cobbled-together wartime compilation feature, What the Public Wants). Sirdani was now a more conventional magician, suave and smooth and with a Chico Marxian mock-Italian line in comedy patter, coaxing members of the audience to participate in the tricks with his catchphrase "Don't be fright". He was enough of a showman for this to work well on radio, as he charmingly described the tricks to the listeners and encouraged them to try it for themselves. There was even a book, Don't Be Fright - Radio Magic by Sirdani. Now that's adaptability - and it's also British Variety at its best. Thirty years later, curly-wigged-but-actually-bald Geoffrey Durham was doing a similar act, mock-Spanish this time, as The Great Soprendo; and he was hilarious. One act influences another, and that's what keeps show-business going. We've discussed this before and we'll do it again: Harry Weldon influenced Sandy Powell; Norman Evans influenced Les Dawson; Fred Sanborn influenced George Carl and all those silent, huge-jacketed, too-short-trousered European clowns,; Max Miller influenced Cheerful Charlie Chester; Ted Healy influenced Jack Carson, Milton Berle and any number of acerbic chat-show hosts; Sid Field influenced Howerd, Grayson, Morecambe, Hancock... and Eddie Cantor influenced Kermit the Frog. Let's argue!

We've deviated a bit from Archie Andrews; but it now remains to be seen whether Archie will entertain a whole new generation in the hands of an efficient vent who actually cares about the act, and who isn't thinking about the profits from his shirt factory. Archie's geen in his gox far too long. We'll keep you posted. Gye-gye everygoddy.

Geoff Collins Says: A Big Hand For Archie Andrews!

Archie Andrews has recently been sold for £34000. American readers may not be familiar with this name*, so in case you think some sort of white slavery is involved, I'm pleased to report that Archie was a ventriloquist's dummy. Actually this may come as a big shock to any English readers who always thought he was real; sorry, folks, you should get out more.

Archie's "operator" Peter Brough (1916-1999) was a huge success on British radio in the 1950s with Educating Archie** and Archie's the Boy. Ventriloquism on the radio may be a ludicrous concept, but at the time it worked - and it had worked for many years in the States with Edgar Bergen. Archie was a cheeky schoolboy forever causing disruption for the exasperated Brough and a series of "tutors" who comprised, over the years, a Who's Who of Postwar British Comedy: Robert Moreton, Max Bygraves, Harry Secombe, Beryl Reid, Hattie Jacques, Bruce Forsyth, Tony Hancock, Sid James....

First question: Sid James as a tutor? Yes - you could learn a lot from Sid James. [Insert Sid's distinctive laugh: yack yack yack.]

Second question: Robert Moreton? Never 'eard of 'im! An occasional bit player in British movies - he has a nice close-up and one line in In Which We Serve: "an efficient ship, Sir!" - Moreton developed a hesitant, apologetic upper-class style all his own. Think Derek Nimmo, or Cyril Fletcher without the self-confidence. Sadly his career dipped a bit in the mid 50s and he took his own life. As a consequence he's vanished from comedy history and needs a reappraisal. Perhaps we'll do one.

Third question: What happens when a ventriloquist spends too much time on the radio? You've guessed it: he gradually loses the ability to hide the lip movements - resulting in this apparently genuine exchange, which Ivy heard on the radio only a few days ago :

Brough: Can you see my lips move?

Beryl Reid: Only when Archie's talking...

The early 60s were golden years for ventriloqy, and many of the top names, old and new, began to appear on TV variety shows. We had Saveen and Daisy Mae (excellent; I saw them in a summer show in Hastings); Neville King, being physically attacked by his maniacally aggressive Grandad ("I'm not goin' gack in the gox!"); Arthur Worsley, who just looked glum and "said nothing" whilst being vigorously insulted by the dummy; Shari Lewis (gorgeous!) and "Lamb Chop"; Ray Alan with drunken toff Lord Charles ("you silly arse!") and "Tich and Quackers"; Terry Hall (saw him in Hastings too) with Bert Lahr's close relative "Lenny the Lion"; and best of all, in my opinion, short-lived genius Dennis Spicer. Ah, the glow of nostalgia! A wealth of talent.

In the midst of all this technical virtuosity, Brough did a TV version of Educating Archie in 1958, not for the BBC, but for the commercial channel. This series probably doesn't exist any more and I can't comment on it because (a) I was a baby at the time and (b) my dad didn't get us a television set until January 2, 1959, thereby just missing Christmas and my third birthday.

Thanks, dad.

Don't think I'm still bitter about this or anything....

However I definitely saw Brough and Archie on a later programme; this was probably the Billy Cotton Band Show, in about 1963. What was Brough like? Hopeless! He attempted to hide his flapping lips behind a cigar, but the game was up. I was about 7 or 8 at the time and clearly remember saying to my dad "You can see his lips move!" It was probably this sort of thing that inspired dear old Sandy Powell to develop his "terrible old vent" act; when his hand comes up through the dummy's neck he mutters audibly "I think I've given the game away..."

With so many good vents about, Brough decided it was time to retire. The TV appearance I just mentioned must have been a brief "comeback", as history records that Brough left showbusiness in 1961. Fortunately for him, he had skills in other areas. He was a successful businessman, having inherited a textile business from his dad, another ex-vent, Arthur Grough (sorry, BROUGH) so he took all the money he'd made out of Archie and made loads more out of shirts. Bless his little cotton socks. Come to think of it, he probably made little cotton socks.

Peter Brough's gone now, and his little friend has been silent for many years. But the sale has now taken place, and we can be assured that, someday soon, a new arm will be thrust up inside Archie.

It's exactly what he deserves.

Something else I forgot: it's one of Arthur Brough's dummies that gives Michael Redgrave such a hard time in Dead of Night. I'd like to think Archie was a bit like this offstage.

Just a cotton-pickin' minute. Can you actually believe that I managed to complete an article without mentioning Cyril Fletcher (oops, I did mention him didn't I?), the Finest Art Gallery Outside London, my computer-literate pal Kristian who's ready to give Rubberlegs, my computer, the once-over, and the PATHE WEBSITE???

As I seem to have mentioned the Pathe website, I might as well point out that they have a pre-Archie clip of Brough, from about 1943, and yes, even then he was using the cigar to hide his lips. Let's face it, he was very, very lucky.

Good-gye, Grough.

* ed. note: aside from America's Favorite Teenager, of course.

**ed. note: a free sample episode of Educating Archie is available here. It's like The Goon Show with more catchphrases and less wit. Be nice and buy something, you cheapskates.