FROM SAWDUST TO WINDSOR CASTLE

BY

“WHIMSICAL WALKER”

(The famous Drury Lane Clown)

With eight full page half-tone illustrations

LONDON: STANLEY PAUL & CO. 31, ESSEX STREET, STRAND, W.C.2

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[vii]

First published in 1922

Table of Contents

CHAPTER I

My father and mother. My mother dies and my father marries again. A bad time with stepmother. When nine years old I run away. My first “engagement.” Odd experiences. I try to be a photographer and come to grief. Another engagement—“A living head without a body.” With Bedell’s show at Whitby. My first “panto” part. How I got to London. I make the acquaintance of Morris Abrahams, who sends me home. Am engaged by Pablo Fangue, the circus proprietor. My training. Thanks to my face I am made a clown. Pablo Fangue an admirable master.

CHAPTER II

I tramp from Bristol to London with my properties. A one-day show with the “Retort” Circus at the Crystal Palace. The seats collapse. I join Croueste and Nella’s Circus. A “double somersault over five horses by the Little Clown.” An unexpected catastrophe. How I “performed” on the slack rope. With Powell and Clarke at Southampton. The preacher and the monkey. I appear at the Theatre Royal, Manchester, for a benefit at Sanger’s Circus. A lion in my dressing room! Practical joking among circus lads. Am tired of circus life and go in for “mumming.” I take an “engagement” at Royston’s Circus at Carlisle. Playing “Little Willie” in “East Lynne” and the “ghost” in “Hamlet” under difficulties. Am disappointed with “mumming” and go back to the circus. My first shave. Terrible death of Macmart, the lion tamer.

CHAPTER III

Am engaged at Astley’s. The curious history of the theatre. Sanger’s odd expedient against fire. I am a soldier for one night in “Fair Rosamond.” Recreation at the “Bower Saloon.” I play the part of a monk. The monks’ revenge on an obnoxious actor. A fight with “Richard III.” Am pitched into the orchestra. I join Adams’ Circus in Yorkshire. I make Marwood, the hangman, laugh. Am an unsatisfactory witness in a police court case.

CHAPTER IV

A turning point in my career. I accept an offer to go to America and travel with John H. Murray’s Railroad Circus. The discomforts of crossing the Atlantic. The adventures of a jar of whisky. Our opening show at Harlum a success. Blowing up “Hell Gate.” New York scared. Odd experiences down south. An indignant darkie thirsts for my blood. The clown not understood in America. A Yankee who didn’t like my “general appearance.” A Pittsburg “burglar.” I return to England.

CHAPTER V

My second visit to America. A caravan journey across the prairies and the Rockies from New York to San Francisco. My experiences with Red Indians. A novel treatment of fever. Performances at San Francisco, Java and Australia. Return to New York. A “spiritualistic” swindle. Am engaged by Barnum, Bailey and Hutchinson. The baby elephant born in the show becomes my playmate. An elephant’s wonderful memory. My mysterious mission to Paris under “sealed orders.” What the sealed letter contained—instructions to buy “Jumbo.” Agitation in London over the proposed sale of the big elephant. The Zoological Society accept Barnum’s offer. Proceedings in Chancery. The matter settled. “Jumbo’s” opposition. The true story of the delay. A mishap to his car.

CHAPTER VI

“Jumbo” shipped. The Baroness Burdett-Coutts gives him his last bun. Arrives safely at New York. A duty of £450 demanded. My awkward encounter with the Customs officer. Fatal accident to “Jumbo.” Something about the Aztecs. Their curious history. I go in for theatrical management. I start with pantomime at the Metropolitan Alcazar, Broadway. Deverna’s extraordinary rubber “properties.” The topical hits greatly relished. The foolish penal code. Marriages in Barnum’s captive balloon. My benefit and the misfortune that happened. The gallery gives way and many people injured. In five minutes I lose all my fortune.

CHAPTER VII

I join Hengler’s Circus at Liverpool. Mr. Charles Hengler’s peculiarities. A black or red nose? An unlucky ride in the early morning after a late night. I break my ankle. Incapacitated for two years. I go with Hengler’s to Dublin. My popularity. A favourite song. I experiment with performing cats. They have stage fright. A Dublin reporter taken aback. “Billy Gladstone.” The reporter’s revenge. My awkward experience on the boat to Holyhead. A “Dick Turpin” impromptu ride to York.

CHAPTER VIII

The doings of my donkeys “Tom” and “Jerry.” How I educated them. The training of animals. A Hull doctor hoaxed. My misadventure on the opening night at Hull. How “Tom” was taught to sing. “Jerry” suddenly drops dead at Glasgow. “Tom’s” great cleverness. How he scared the ballet girls at the Leicester Square Empire. “Tom” undergoes a singular surgical operation at Bordeaux. How I said “something nice” to Mr. Gladstone at Covent Garden Theatre. I am “commanded” to perform before Queen Victoria at Windsor Castle. “Tom’s” misbehaviour on this occasion. Her Majesty’s appreciation of the performance.

CHAPTER IX

I experiment with geese. A goose race in tubs. A fiasco. Sarony, the showman artist-photographer of Scarborough. I begin the training of geese. Their erratic behaviour. They devour the stuffing of the ring fence. Mr. Hengler’s indignation. The Sisters Vades and their safety net. The geese make a meal off the net and spoil the turn of the sisters. Their doom pronounced by Mr. Hengler. How they terminated their career. I fail to train a vicious monkey. The late King Edward (then Prince of Wales) at Scarborough—I am permitted to join his shooting party. I arrange a children’s cricket match at which the Prince and Dr. W. G. Grace captain the respective sides. I get up a comic cricket match at Hengler’s at the Prince’s request. I make up as “W. G.” and execute a marvellous and unsuspected hit. My horse “Spot” and his dancing on the Scarborough sands. The Scarborough widows.

CHAPTER X

I am engaged to appear at Madrid. Something about my wonderful game-cock. Cock-fighting in London in the ’eighties! The secret of an Endell Street cellar. How I obtained the bird. A match between myself and the game-cock. An Argyle Street show which took the town. A trying journey to Madrid. The trials of Spanish etiquette. Am invited by Royalty to a bull-fight. The singing donkey creates a furore. Also the game-cock “turn.” My gallio challenged by a Spanish champion. The fight comes off. The Spaniard defeated. The Spanish game-cock fanciers anxious to secure my bird. I adopt precautions for his safety. Difficulties in the way of returning home. I succeed by a ruse in escaping.

CHAPTER XI

Odds and ends of circus life. The “peep show” cooking stoves. How I “had” Lord Randolph Churchill in Dublin. I distinguish myself at a sham fight. An unscrupulous practical joker. Faked up “Zulu” warriors and how the fraud was discovered. The story of a Birmingham Christmas pudding. My trick canary that failed. A day’s fishing on a yacht.

CHAPTER XII

More odds and ends. How I was rescued from “drowning” at Douglas. The mock medals. A night sensation at sea. I act as a race-course steward at the Manx “Derby.” A good old “gag.” I personate another actor at Warrington. Dan Leno’s champion clog dancing. Eccentric lodging house keepers. Selling the “deadheads.” Advertisements introduced into performing. A mean firm. Curried fowl and the disappointed supers. Advertising an electric bell. The audience “sold.” I play at the Cirque Nouveau, Paris. My excess of zeal.

CHAPTER XIII

American notes. A bogus boxing match. Dispersed by hose-pipe. Jem Mace and Joe Goss. I second Mace and get the worst of it. Queer American law. Washed away on Coney Island. An insulted Irishman. How I started “Sequah” in business. Daring robbery of my presentation watch and chain. Curious coincidences. Terrible death of a Barnum acrobat. I go to America with Charlie Chaplin. An unlucky tour. The company collapse in Seattle. The discomforts of a Seattle hospital. I return to England. An unexpected shower bath. Chased by a hippopotamus.

CHAPTER XIV

My second visit to Australia. I train a performing horse on board. Am engaged by Harry Rickards for a twenty-seven weeks’ tour. I play for five nights only. Summoned to London by Mr. Arthur Collins owing to the death of Herbert Campbell. Mr. Rickards’ luxurious home. I bathe with sharks. I escort two wallabies to England. A strange meeting at Colombo. I arrive in London. Death of Dan Leno. Dan’s merry pranks. His unlucky garden party.

CHAPTER XV

Managers and actors I have known. P. T. Barnum. A wonderful organiser. How a big circus travels. Barnum’s consideration for his company. His little speeches. General Tom Thumb. Signor Foli and Frank Celli. Sir Augustus Harris a born showman. The elder Harris and his glossy hat. The value of an advertisement. My “benefit” at Drury Lane and why it was a frost. I miss my chance in the Drury Lane Pantomime, 1890-91, “Beauty and the Beast.” An unrehearsed incident. I play “Mercury” in “Venus.” I am “Hamlet” at Richardson’s show in the Olympic Carnival. A Scottish “Ghost.” A new view of “Hamlet.”

CHAPTER XVI

My first engagement at Covent Garden. My performing pig. Its ultimate end. Some dog yarns. Animal trainers not cruel. “Verdun,” the wonderful performing horse. How E. T. Smith swallowed a £1,000 note. A shadow in my life. My first panto at Drury Lane Theatre. A “great cab act.” Comic film scenes indebted to the harlequinade. The decline of the harlequinade. The clown’s difficulties with the orchestra. Royalty at the pantomime. I present Princess Mary with a Christmas cracker. The cracker and the cats—a practical joke. The relief of Ladysmith—an excited audience. Arthur Roberts, the prince of “spoofers.” Escapades at a Sheffield hotel. Pressmen “spoofed” by a water chute. The “spooferies.”

CHAPTER XVII

Pantomimes at old “Drury.” A pantomime mishap. “Spoofing” a Hebe of the old Gaiety buffet. E. J. Odell’s rebuke. Sitting on a corpse! Drury Lane memories. Lady Dunlo and the ham and beef shop. I play in Drury Lane panto from 1912 to 1920. Actors and actresses who have played in pantomimes. Jimmy Welch and the New Clown. Mr. Arthur Bourchier as clown in W. S. Gilbert’s “Fairy’s Dilemma.” A Crystal Palace Pantomime. The Lupinos as children. Covent Garden fancy dress balls. “Codding” the first prize. Dan Leno as a policeman. Baddeley Twelfth Cake Festivities.

CHAPTER XVIII

American comic films an imitation of the English harlequinade. Charlie Chaplin’s “method.” The modern pantomime not produced for children. The clown’s “business” spoilt by the orchestra. A defence of the harlequinade. Grimaldi and summer pantomimes. What a pantomime should be. A suggestion. The best clowns with circus experience. The art of pantomime running in families. The Leopolds, the Vokes family, the Lupinos. The difference between a circus and a pantomime clown. Watty Hillyard, Wallet and Tom Matthews. Mr. W. S. Gilbert as harlequin. W. J. Payne, the “King of Pantomime.” How Dan Leno and Herbert Campbell worked together. The clown of the harlequinade works by himself. Sausages and the red-hot poker. The origin of the clown. Eighteenth century pantomimes. Grimaldi. Other famous clowns. How old circus jokes were made. A plea for the revival of the harlequinade.

CHAPTER XIX

The films. A new experience. The humours of rehearsals. Chasing a hat. An embarrassing encounter with bees. How “little Nell” was buried. Blowing up “old Peggotty.” The “Starting Point.” A glance back at a life’s work.

List of Illustrations

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From Sawdust to Windsor Castle

CHAPTER I

My father and mother. My mother dies and my father marries again. A bad time with stepmother. When nine years old I run away. My first “engagement.” Odd experiences. I try to be a photographer and come to grief. Another engagement—“A living head without a body.” With Bedell’s show at Whitby. My first “panto” part. How I got to London. I make the acquaintance of Morris Abrahams, who sends me home. Am engaged by Pablo Fangue, the circus proprietor. My training. Thanks to my face I am made a clown. Pablo Fangue an admirable master.

I was born in Hull in the year—well, it doesn’t much matter what year it was. My mother kept a public house in Paragon Street with the odd name of the “March of Intellect,” and it happened that Cooke’s Circus, of which Robert Stanley Walker was manager, came to the theatre. Robert Walker fell in love with the hostess of the “March of Intellect,” married her, and so I was brought into the world.

I was three years old and my sister Rachel one year and three months younger, when my mother was taken ill. She was ordered to Torquay, where she died. Five years later my father married again, and giving up circus life became proprietor of Castle Farm, Mile End, Hazel Grove, Stockport.

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At Castle Farm were cows, pigs, a horse, fowls, etc., and the familiarity with animals which afterwards served me in such good stead in later life began here. Something else must also have begun—my “whimsicality,” only it wasn’t called by that name. I must have been a wrong-headed urchin, always going my own way in preference to other people’s. Anyway, according to my stepmother, I could do nothing right; thrashings followed, and young as I was—only nine years—I made up my mind to run away.

One day I was sent with my stepmother’s mother to Stockport market to sell butter and eggs, and was left by her in charge of the stall. Here was the very chance and I took it. I sold the stock on my own account and went off with the money to Manchester.

The showman’s spirit must have been in my blood, for instinctively I turned towards Knott Mill Fair which was being held just off Deansgate. I chummed on with a boy I met; I treated him to hot peas, gingerbread and nuts until I was stony broke. My new friend was a lad of resource and introduced me to the proprietor of a tumbling booth who must have seen something funny in my face (I doubt if it was a lovely one) which took his fancy. “Put on some togs,” said he, “knock about on the front of the booth and let me see how you get on.”

It was my first engagement! My salary was plenty to eat, lodging and a penny or twopence a week. It wasn’t much, but I felt independent, and I tried to forget I had a father of whom I was horribly afraid.

[3]

Rigged up in comic clothes, my performance was to tumble about in any way I fancied. I suppose I must have been unconsciously “whimsical,” for the crowd laughed, and what was more to the purpose, so also did the show people.

I made a start at acrobatic training with the assistance of a broomstick, trying to bend back until my head touched my heels, but this did not suit my youthful fancy, and my ideas of a salary enlarging, I threw up my “engagement” at the tumbling booth and took up with a travelling photographer who gave me two shillings a week and my board, but as I had to pay for my bed I didn’t get much out of it.

Looking back, it puzzles me how a photographer could find a boy of nine or ten useful. For my duties were to talk to the gaping multitude and induce them to have their portraits taken! I suppose I was a “hit” or he wouldn’t have kept me on. I can only put it down to my innate “whimsicality.”

I had odd experiences with the photographer. Once a hurricane blew the whole show over. The proprietor flew into a passion, said it was my fault and was for “firing” me right away, but altering his mind he gave me some lessons in photography, and leaving me in charge, went off to find a “pitch” in another town.

I suppose I imagined I was a full-blown artist, and a woman with her baby coming along, I induced her to give me a sitting and sent her away with an awful production for which I charged[4] her eighteenpence. The next day her husband descended upon me in the shape of a burly drunken collier who threatened to kill me unless I returned the money. Unluckily I’d spent it, but I pacified him by offering to take the lady and baby again. He vanished into a public house, and deciding that art was not my vocation, I fled and left the booth to its own devices. What became of it I never knew.

Ashton Fair was on and here I presented myself and was recognised by a showman named Randal Williams. Williams wanted a boy to play a part called “A living head without a body,” a sort of trick which anticipated a portion of Maskelyne and Cooke’s well-known entertainment years after. All I had to do was to put on a wig and old whiskers and go underneath the stage about a dozen times a day, and at a given signal put my head through a small trap door, my body of course being concealed. The exhibitor would then say, “Open your eyes—can you see?” “Yes,” was my reply. “Turn your eyes to the right—now to the left. Smoke a cigarette,” etc.

One day some mischievous urchin stuck a pin into my body. I dived down to punch the young rascal. It was the critical moment of the show and when the trap opened there was no head! The audience thought they had been swindled and went for the proprietor who went for me. That was the end of my “living head” engagement.

I then joined a hanky-panky show of conjurors. With my face blackened I was called “Jumbo”—the recognised name in those days[5] for a comic nigger. I imagine I then “found” myself. I certainly was a huge success and suddenly became the greatest boy on the parade. By the time we reached Whitby in the winter of that year I had mastered the mysteries of conjuring.

At Whitby Mrs. Bedell, the proprietress, rented a ramshackle structure dubbed the “Theatre Royal,” which let in the rain to such an extent that sometimes there were two or three feet of water under the stage. We opened three nights a week with the “legitimate,” “Maria Martin,” “East Lynne,” etc., and we also produced a pantomime, “The Babes in the Wood.” I was one of the “Babes” and Polly Bedell, Mrs. Bedell’s daughter, the other; and the scene painter was the clown, Billy Baker, who also made the properties.

One wet night a dreadful fiasco came about. In the last scene the two little dears ascended to Heaven after being covered with leaves (which we collected every morning from the country) by the dear little robins, one of which, by the way, was a huge “property” bird that became a codfish in the harlequinade. On this particular night the box containing the babes was ascending to Heaven when one of the ropes broke and exit the babes under the stage into a watery grave! That was the end of the panto.

Young as I was I noticed that a company of strolling players always had its “character.” Bedell’s “character” was the cornet player, Stokes, who comprised the entire orchestra. He had a wooden tooth and he could only play when[6] this tooth was in his mouth, and as he sometimes mislaid it there was an element of uncertainty in his performance, which lent it considerable charm.

The time came when I got tired of Bedell’s, and a friendly fisherman who had a son about my own age suggested that we should go to sea together. It was winter time and I didn’t much relish the idea. However, I sailed with him in his smack to London, and when I was in the crowded streets the old yearning for show life came back, and I said good-bye to my friend the fisherman.