Today, I’ve brought with me, my Ken Dodd Fun Club Certificate and personalised, signed Ken Dodd photograph.
I was ten years old when in April 1969, my parents, little sister, Rona, and I waited at the stage door of the Alhambra Theatre in Glasgow to meet my hero, Ken Dodd.
We didn’t have to wait too long before being invited in.
I vividly remember Doddy sitting behind a sort of counter, wearing a dressing gown, still in full make-up and hair all over the place.
I recall too, he was very gracious, and though offstage only a short while following a long performance, he was still incredibly funny and cracking jokes.
I told him I missed the Diddymen who hadn’t appeared in the show, and Ken took time to explain, more through my parents, that they couldn’t get the necessary permission from the Glasgow authorities for children to perform in the evenings.
He really was just how you hope your hero should be and chatted happily for several minutes, even politely replying to my asking why he had jokes written all over his hands and wrists!
Often referred to as the last of the Music Hall comedians, Ken Dodd appealed to adults and kids in equal measure. I really thought he was tattyfilarious, and laughed till my eyes streamed and my sides were sore.
(When I reminded my ninety-one year old dad of this the other day, his eyes lit up and confirmed what a fantastically funny night it was.)
I had thought I’d lost these two mementos but found them when searching for something else. I’m so glad I did, as they evoke such strong memories of a much more innocent and nonsensical style of humour.
(Post by Paul Fitzpatrick, of London – February 2021)
I’ve always had a strange relationship with Billy Connolly.
Not that we’ve ever met.
I call it Christopher Columbus syndrome – You find an artist, hear a song or read a book that hardly anyone else knows about, you become an early adopter and spread the word, and before you know it everyone loves them – with people even asking you if you’ve heard of them!
It drives you mad because you feel like you’re the one that DISCOVERED THEM, and if it wasn’t for you unearthing their great talent and spreading the word, they’d be nowhere.
You even begin to resent their newfound fame – they’re being greedy or they’re overreaching or they’re forgetting where they come from, or some other daft notion.
Welcome to my relationship with Billy Connolly.
I’m pretty sure the first time I heard Connolly utter a word was on the Pavilion stage in February 1974.
There was a buzz as the relative unknown had sold out several nights at the Pavilion Theatre in Glasgow, something only Sydney Devine (Scotland’s answer to Elvis) could do back then.
My pal Barry suggested we get tickets to see him on a Friday night as we had no school the next day, we were both 15 at the time and part of the plan was to find a pub and go for the full Friday night Glasgow experience.
We duly found a wee working mans pub round the corner from the venue, and foraged for a seat out of view, it was tea-time on a Friday, so the pub was busy with artisans in their work clothes finishing their shifts for the weekend.
We must have stood out like sore thumbs.
I think Barry braved the first approach to the bar and I was amazed but delighted when he came back with 2 halves of lager and 2 vodka and oranges’ (non-diluted orange squash of course).
A half and a half back then was the working mans preferred tipple, so who were we to challenge the established order of things.
The drinks were downed pretty quickly, and we enjoyed a few more bevvy’s before floating off down the road to the Pavilion in good spirits.
Stand-up comedy in the 70’s was dominated by middle aged men who wore suits and bow ties and told corny jokes about their mother in laws or minorities or Germans bombing their chip shops.
This guy Connolly was different though he was younger, he looked like a welder on acid and he spoke our language.
A bit like listening to the opening 4 tracks of Led Zeppelin IV for the first time, Connolly literally took our breath away. I had never laughed so long or so hard before, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t since, although Jerry Sadowitz has come close a couple of times.
He was loud, gallus, hilarious and the audience loved him, his stories were relatable, and he was one of us.
I remember hearing the Crucifixion sketch for the first time that night, it was the funniest thing I’d ever heard, he was irreverent and didn’t give two hoots about poking fun at religion or sectarian taboos or bodily functions or the establishment, no topic was off limits to the Big Yin.
It was a memorable evening; from the nervous bus-journey into town wondering if we’d get served or huckled for being underage, to the journey home, fish supper in hand, trying to recount all the jokes and patter and remembering we had football for the school the following morning.
We were so smitten by Connolly that we spent the next couple of weeks spreading the gospel, telling everyone we knew how great he was, mostly to blank faces however, as no one had heard of him.
His career really took off after a live album of the Pavilion material was released in May 1974, and the following year he finally came into the general public’s consciousness.
In 1975 Connolly sold out an unprecedented 12 nights at the Glasgow Apollo, as well as appearing on Parkinson for the first of his record breaking 15 appearances.
That year he also showed off his acting chops by appearing in a powerful Peter McDougall TV play called ‘Just Another Saturday’ which was about West of Scotland culture, beliefs, innocence and sectarianism.
If that wasn’t enough, he also headlined a London gig for the first time and even had a number one single, appearing on TOTP with a parody of Tammy Wynette’s Divorce. It was the archetypal rags to riches story; the guy had gone from zero to hero in the space of 18 months.
There’s a picture that was taken in 1975 by Ronnie Anderson, a newspaper colleague of one of our contributors George Cheyne, that is my favourite Connolly portrait.
The occasion was an after-party in The Dorchester for the first of Billy’s sell out shows at the London Palladium in 1975, and it features – Billy, Alex Harvey, Jimmy Reid the shop steward, Hamish Stuart from AWB, Frankie Miller and Jimmy Dewar (a musician from Stone the Crows and Robin Trower Band).
A motley crew of 6 Glaswegians toasting their mate’s success in a foreign land.
If I’m being completely honest, the parody single was the point when I started to think the Big Yin was overreaching.
A parody single? That was for Benny Hill and Rolf Harris but not for the Big Yin!
I’d also noticed that his accent had started to soften a bit and he was definitely losing some of his tough Glasgow brogue.
Of course, I look back now and understand he was just reaching out to a wider audience, the guy was a welder turned folk singer turned comedian, he had no idea how long this gravy train was going to run for.
He was simply making the most of his opportunities
As Connolly got bigger so did his global reach, hanging out with Hollywood celebs and Royalty and appearing in big budget movies and hosting TV specials.
There was a point where he seemed to be everyone’s favourite comedian, but he probably wasn’t mine anymore.
I had discovered American stand-up, guys like Richard Pryor, Steve Martin and Bill Hicks, and I liked the cut of their jib.
I still liked Billy and I would go the odd gig, but for me comparing his newer, more mainstream material to his earlier stuff was like comparing Stevie Wonder’s I Just Called to Say I Love You to Superstition or Living for the City.
And I guess I’ve just addressed some of my issues right there!
If Stevie can’t maintain unrealistic artistic excellence, who can??
On a subconscious level I also think that for some absurd reason I thought he’d forsaken his Scottish roots, which is illogical, particularly as I moved away from Scotland myself in 1984.
There’s no doubt that Connolly has had a fantastic career, he’s adored by millions and he is and always has been a wonderful ambassador for Scotland.
As he’s got older, I think he’s got back to being a bit more irreverent and a bit more outspoken, and that’s the Billy I adore.
I’ve loved stand-up comedy since I was 15 thanks to the Big Yin, he was my first and he was one of the best.
When all’s said and done, I’m glad I got to discover the Big Yin in February 1974 and share him with the rest of the world.