Some Mothers do 'ave 'em and Me!

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.