2009 marks a number of anniversaries, not least 50 years of Motown, but it just occurred to me that it was 30 years ago, almost to the day, when I departed Albion's shores to live Sur le Continent. In early January 1979 I received a phone call from an American impresario who had auditioned me earlier that day in London, who seemed to be saying "Can you be here in 10 days?" I heard myself replying coolly "Just a moment, I'll check my diary ...", ruffling the phone book a bit, and then resuming: "Why certainly I can. I trust accommodation will be arranged for me?" before putting the phone down and shrieking "Mother, I'm going to Paris!!!!!"
It was round about the 17th of January, I believe, when I departed from the White Cliffs of Dover for La Belle France, with my steamer trunk packed to the gunnels with feather boas, sequinned thongs, nipple tassels and jars of Vaseline. Now my late husband Harold is no longer with us, I can be frank about my career on the boards. He didn't have a clue, the truth would have killed him. The Folies Bergère was still going great guns in those days, and English dancers were prized for their long legs and enthusiasm for the casting couch. I was very innocent and when Mr Finkelburger asked me to come to his office for a special job he needed doing, I trotted up the stairs in my little (fake) Chanel suit, oblivious to the knowing looks of the other girls.
"Ayup our kid, don't wear navy blue next time, you'll save on't dry cleaning bills" advised Dolores Entwhistle, a plain-spoken Yorkshire lass (is there any other kind?). Dolores and two other hoofers "Orinoco Flo" McCluskey and Hattie Mildew-Spliff became my bosom buddies, in a very literal sense. We choreographed our own dance routines which became more and more audacious. One, involving a gerbil, a live eel and two parrots, actually provoked an official complaint from the Animal Protection Society.
With apologies for the Spanish subtitles, but I gather we were big in Costa Rica.
It was round about the 17th of January, I believe, when I departed from the White Cliffs of Dover for La Belle France, with my steamer trunk packed to the gunnels with feather boas, sequinned thongs, nipple tassels and jars of Vaseline. Now my late husband Harold is no longer with us, I can be frank about my career on the boards. He didn't have a clue, the truth would have killed him. The Folies Bergère was still going great guns in those days, and English dancers were prized for their long legs and enthusiasm for the casting couch. I was very innocent and when Mr Finkelburger asked me to come to his office for a special job he needed doing, I trotted up the stairs in my little (fake) Chanel suit, oblivious to the knowing looks of the other girls.
"Ayup our kid, don't wear navy blue next time, you'll save on't dry cleaning bills" advised Dolores Entwhistle, a plain-spoken Yorkshire lass (is there any other kind?). Dolores and two other hoofers "Orinoco Flo" McCluskey and Hattie Mildew-Spliff became my bosom buddies, in a very literal sense. We choreographed our own dance routines which became more and more audacious. One, involving a gerbil, a live eel and two parrots, actually provoked an official complaint from the Animal Protection Society.
With apologies for the Spanish subtitles, but I gather we were big in Costa Rica.
17 comments:
Yes we cancan, I should coco!! What a divine life you seem to have had, Daphers - in between ambassadorial engagements - and how similar to Mrs Pouncer's! I think I know "Orinoco Flo" McCluskey - she is the woman I wronged.
The eel was a nice touch, bringing a bit of East End culture to the oyster-slurping French. Did you touch the eel, milady?
My goodness I saw your show - I was the woman wearing only a tattoo, a very life-like depiction of a boa squeezing the life out of me
Ah, to have had your life and not feel constrained by the bondage of middle-class aspirations. I am envious, Ms WB, of the way you have reached out and grabbed success with both hands.
Did you ever tangle with Betty Boothroyd? Now that would have been a combination.
Blimey, Daphne, Mrs P and Scarlet take to the stage....?
I have a sax and a ferret...
Sx
So, not exactly a Bluebell, then?
Gadjo, it is true I was engaged to several Ambassadors - the Colombian, the Moroccan, the Cambodian ... I couldn't swear not to have met Mrs P in a previous existence. As for Orinoco Flo - she waited at that altar for six months, you cad.
GB, I certainly didn't eat the eel - you need a good licker to make it palatable.
Lulu, how's tricks? Long time no see. I remember your act well. I might need the number of your tattooist, I want my phone number visible when Obama comes to Brussels.
Mme Defarge, bondage is quite popular among the middle classes, I believe. The Official Secrets Act precludes me from revealing much about Ms Boothroyd's pre-political life, but I can tell you she did work with a hoover and attachments.
Scarletta, stick with me kid and I'll make you a star ... tune in next week, I'm on a roll.
Autolycus, the only Lido I frequented was the local open-air swimming pool in Charlton.
It was January 9th 1976 when my felucca ran aground on Seaton Carew beach...
I escaped the noose unlike our poor "relative" whose legend still outlives him.
A live eel!!
May I reminds you youse never paid for the eels, bor.
I love nipple tassles!
Daphné ,
Mon précédent message "en javanais" ou presque ! Il est normal que pour les Folies Bergère ( voir bergères en folies :) )ce soit Le franchouillard qui fuse !
Des fioles de VASELINE !!!!
Était-ce pour enfiler ces étranges costumes tendance Nouvelle-Guinée , qui semblent parfois trop étroit tellement cela déborde généreusement d'entre les plumes de Didus ineptus "dodo" disparu depuis ??
Sorry for the irrelevance, but I am distracted by the Denzel on your sidebar.
Splendid choice, madam. Splendid.
Krimo, remarkably similar story to a certain Transylvanian nobleman who ran ashore a few miles further south from you. Hm .... *strokes beard thoughtfully*
Gyppo, contact H. Mildew-Spliff, head cook, Chartier Pie & Eel Shop, rue du Poissonnier, Paris.
Nursie, great stressbusters aren't they? You make them go clockwise, then anti-clockwise, then up and down ...
Crabtree, te voilà de retour! On est toujours heureux de revoir tes voiles sur l'horizon. Tu parles du fameux costume à bananes de Mlle Baker? Où tu penses que j'ai tiré l'inspiration pour mon couvre-chef?
Papes, something about a man in a vest, isn't there? With the possible exception of Rab C Nesbitt.
We both had life changing happenings at the same time. You're not Pisces by any chance?
First I was a schlepper, now I'm Miss Mazeppa - I coulda written the script, Daphs. And bending over to blow a horn is entry-level stuff. C
Seqinned thong!! Yikes, sounds like a design for a bandsaw!
Merci Daphné,et combien je suis heureux ,comme un moussaillon revenant au bercail !
Comme on dit avoir la banane :) Il est vrai qu'elle avait Joséphine "de beau harnais" en banane ! Curieux pour une demoiselle Freda Josephine McDonald ! hi!hi!
Oh ! la la, quel beau chapeau !Il est très rigolo ! Il a l'air bien comme il faut , et quand tu croises tes amies elles en crèvent de jalousie ? En voyant ton beau chapeau !
Je te tire mon chapeau :)
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