23.X.2026

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When Chris and I did a couple of numbers at the Ringham-on-Rye open mic, Eric remarked, ‘With those shoulders they look like a couple of sailor boys, and probably brothers at that.’

 

Chris dropped out from that gig after a couple of months, he had plenty of other things going, but I kept turning up for several years, accompanying myself on my Yamaha C40. Arthritis made me drop out eventually.  One of my favourite songs was Perry Como’s ‘It’s Impossible’ and I thought that when I could play and sing that again anything would be possible. Then there’d be a comeback.

 

Chris was an a capella singer from way back, self-taught. He was from Bermondsey, like Tommy Steele himself. Chris had admired his Uncle Reg who always got up and sang, untaught and unaware of keys and chords and sharps and flats, but full of sincerity.

 

During some numbers I liked to stop singing and simply intone the lyrics deadpan.  Then I would begin to sing again. The relief of the audience was audible at times, especially as I liked to mimic Larry Olivier.

 

‘As you’ve spent a lot of time slaughtering those show tunes at Ringham and the various pubs on the circuit, we wondered if you’d like to come to the annual Riotous Assemblage “do” at Haverton,’ said Chris one night.  This festivity was considered quite a peach—the minstrels went from pub to pub being regaled with free drinks, sandwiches and crisps, and the rest of it. I didn’t actually follow up on it. More fool me, because from all accounts you could have a real blowout.

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