In 1973 we moved to Northampton; it seemed near
enough to London and only cost £1.35 day return on the train with an
extra 16p for the car park – we were actually in a place called
Hartwell which is about eight miles from the town centre, and not too
far from the Motorway – the M1 – so I could also catch the London
train from Wolverton too; plenty of choices.
I hadn't worked too much in 1973 as we had a baby boy
in July and after we sold our other house the house we were going to
move in to had fallen through so we'd been staying with my parents in
Birmingham till we found another.
An actor friend said he knew an actress who was
recruiting for a team of people to sell portable central heating in
Edgware so I arranged to meet her.
She gave me the usual promises about how much money
I'd earn and as Edgware was only a few stops down the motorway I
agreed. We had to meet in at a certain place each evening and then
attack an estate called Carpenders Park, you go up that way and you
go that way, kind of thing. Then we'd meet up and tell her how many
appointments we had arranged for her!
There was another guy call Michael Mundell on the job
too; he had been in Crossroads (an evening soap opera on ITV)
and so had I so when we knocked people's doors in the neighbourhood
people recognized us.
'There's a man from Crossroads at the door' was one
of the cries then the family would come and look. I thought it was
fun; for some reason they thought I would be very rich but the only
work I can remember from that year was a Brylcreem commercial and a
commercial for Hedex Seltzer – when they came out people would
recognize me from those commercials too. I never minded being
recognized and signing autographs but I know people who don't like
it.
I earned a small fortune from the Brylcreem and a few
hundred from the Hedex in
repeat fees when they were screened.
In fact I could write episodes about the central
heating period, how someone would come to the door and just look at
me then go away; then someone else would come and look and as I had
cottoned on very quickly to what they were looking at I just played
along.
I think I was shooting an episode of Z Cars onece and
some old lady came up and said 'Are you filming Budgie?'
Budgie was a TV
series with Adam Faith, and I said yes, he's just gone for a cup of
tea. People would recognize me from the Guinness Commercial
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MzzPtypCrUE
and I would sign the autograph,
Arthur Guinness.
But back to the central heating -the bottom line is I
didn't earn any money to speak of apart from £15 basic per week but
I didn't sell anything – and neither did Michael.
I looked him up, before I wrote this, and found he
died about ten years ago of a heart attack. I know he went to
Australia where he wrote and acted so - RIP.
One day I called home and my wife mentioned that my
agent had called. Now my agent in those days was a strange woman who
spoke very fast and I think had some kind of speech impediment. I had
studied speech for three solid years at drama school but could never
figure out what impediment she had.
I had to call her back from a phone box and the gist
of the call was that she had put me up for the Michael Crawford
situation comedy series Some Mothers do 'ave 'em,
which was a huge hit at the time, and they had come back to offer me
a job.
She told me it was only one line and I said I
wouldn't be interested. I don't remember what she said but a couple
of weeks later someone from the BBC called and wanted to know where I
was and that I was supposed to be at rehearsals.
I told him the story and he said 'well come if you
want' so . . . I decided to go in straight away.
I called my agent and she denied or couldn't remember
me turning it down and then admitted that I had and said she had told
me to turn it down myself but the fee was £45, which was the minimum
fee at the BBC, in those days, for a week's work, and I should take
it or leave it.
I was getting fed up with the central heating sales,
in any case, so I said I would do it.
By the time I got there (North Acton) the rehearsals
had finished and I could see through the window Michael Crawford in
the rehearsal room talking to the producer/director and referring to
the script.
I didn't know where I came in, with regards to the
script, but the floor manager told me I would find out the next day
at the start of a week's rehearsals.
Yes it was one line which was 'Yes Sir! Three one
four.'
The episode was set in the RAF where Frank Spencer
had served and the incident was in flashback. Half a dozen RAF
men were in the billet, getting ready, etc: cleaning boots, writing
home and generally relaxing.
In comes Frank Spencer and as soon as he
came in one of the other lads ad libbed a line 'hello Frank; how's
the wife?'
He said the line, which hadn't been written, on every
run of the scene for the whole seven days – Hello Frank; how's
the wife?
At the end of the little scene the officer enters so
'Stand by your beds' from the corporal and when the officer opens the
door he closes Frank's wardrobe just as Frank had stepped into it.
Then the officer calls all our names – yes that's
when it comes in Yes Sir! Three one four. Then he says Spencer
and Frank's voice can be heard from the wardrobe which falls over and
down some stairs and . .
First of all let me explain that my number wasn't
necessarily 314 (I'm not that anal) I just guessed that for this.
And that was it. But we ran it two or three times a
day for the whole week before went to the TV centre to record in
front of a live audience, and each time hello Frank, how's the
wife?
Does that sound boring? Well it was. So each time we
did it I would pretend to do it the way Marlon Brando might do it by
writing my line on my hand and reading it; it was a bit of fun.
Then on the last two days we went in to the studio at
the Television Centre. The wardrobe falling down the stairs was very
critical as Michael Crawford was supposed to be in it. The first time
they tried it the wardrobe fouled on the banister and broke in two.
It wouldn't have been very funny if Michael was in
it.
So that was that for the day; outside the studio they
were doing Top of the Pops and a pal of mine was working on it
so he suggested we meet up for a drink afterwards so I went in to
their studio and they were rehearsing – stood next to Roger Daltry
as he was waiting to go on and then went for a few drinks in the BBC
club.
After that we went in to the recording and there I am on the
left – dear oh dear.
Michael Crawford was very nervous the next day before
the audience came in; he must have walked ten miles around the floor
but eventually the audience came in and before we shot it he was
sitting waiting on the bed and the guy who put his line in came up on
to the set and Michael looked at me and said How's the wife? As
soon as he saw him.
Well all went well but because I'd been playing
around with the Marlon Brando bit I kind of fluffed my line as it
made me laugh – but I don't think the audience noticed.
There he is (Michael) just landed after the stunt and
there I am on the extreme right.
And that was it; it went out not long after that and
then a few months later it went out again – so I got paid again.
Not the £45 but nearly that much. It was very popular so it went out
again – and again and again. Each time it went out the fee was
based on the minimum amount that it was for the time it went out so
it went up and up.
When I was in LA it was broadcast about twice most
years and each time it was broadcast I received the current minimum
fee for a week's work. I had a few payments of $900 or so and these
fees were all based on the original £45.
It went out this year sometime but I only received
about £40 as there is now a new pay scale.
Someone I knew from school – David Rock his name
was – contacted me via the Internet. He had left our school when he
was about ten as he had moved house and then he went to commercial
school, as they were called in those days: they had grammar schools,
Art Schools, Technical Schools and Commercial Schools. All gained
through the 11+ although the 11+ was not the only chance you had.
There was a 12+ and 13+ too.
Eventually
David Rock spoke to me on the phone and told me he had always envied
me as he would see me ride a post office motor bike along Ladypool
Road, where he lived, and I seemed to be having fun and always
speeding. Then he asked me something: how
much do you get from Some mothers do 'ave 'em each time it was on?
I told him but he didn't believe me.
