LIFE “ON THE BOARDS”

Greymouth Evening Star, 26 May 1938, Page 11

LIFE “ON THE BOARDS”

STORIES AND SUPERSTITIONS. Most theatrical people are superstitious. When Mr George Mozart, the music-hall star, was l appearing in a pantomime with Vesta Tilley, he had to make his first entrance in a scene in which he was supposed to have stolen a cockerel. At the dress rehearsal the property man provided him with a stuffed bird, but many of the qhorus girls told him that it would be terribly unlucky if he carried it on the stage. But the producer insisted, and Mr Mozart duly appeared' with the bird under his arm. the crowd following crying, “Stop thief!” One'night, he tells us l in •Limelight’ (John o’ London’s Weekly’ relates), after the show had been running a few weeks, he rushed on as usual only to find the front curtain down and the orchestra playing the National An•hem: — 1 turned to one of the girls. ‘My God, what’s the matter?" She said: “Queen Victoria is dead,” and, looking at me with the cock still under my arm, said: “I knew that something would happen with you carrying that rotten bird on at every performance.” /According to her. Queen Victoria ought to be alive to-day! The old cry of “Stop, thief!” figures in another of Mr Mozart’s 1 stories, lie was appearing in a pantomime in Liverpool with Eugene Stratton, the black faced comedian. One day, when it. was snowing, he made a bet with Stratton that, given a flying start, he could beat a cab from the theatre to the Queen’s Hotel. He took off his overcoat and jacket, and dashed off. while Stratton and 1 a friend jumped into the. hansom. As they gained on me, the horse at full gallop, Gene shouted out: “Stop thief! Stop, thief! Stop him!” The next moment I ran into the arms of a policeman, just as Gene and his companion jumped out. of the cab and disappeared into the hotel. It look mo a long time to convince the policeman that it was only a joke, and i was shivering with cold when another policeman arrived and recognised me. As he had to run all the way back he was not too fond of Stratton at that moment!

POOR OLD ENGLAND. Another story against himself concerns a visit he paid to the United States. At Pittsburgh lie was advertised by a huge streamer across the street, saying: — GEORGE MOZART. London’s Greatest Comedian. The only Englishman with a vein of humour. When he looked at one of the newspapers on the morning after his first appearance, he tells us I saw to my amusement a big headline stating in small print the name of the theatre and underneath in enormous letters: GEORGE MOZART The only Englishman with a vein ot humour. All we can say is God help old England. . He was in the old Eccentric Club in Shaftesbury Avenue one _ night when a stranger came up to him and said: “Say, George, I’m from New York; I’m affiliated with this club. Well, 1 saw you to-night, George; you’re great. —the best comedian I ve seen in this country. Have a drink on me?” They had a bottle of champagne, and the American said that ho was expecting a. friend shortly: — I had a couple of glasses of champagne and half smoked through the cigar, which the American had already paid for, when in walked another man and came straight towards us. “Ah,” said my friend the American, “there you are, up to time. Shake hands with George Robey!” Mr Robey and Mr Mozart once spent a Sunday together at Swansea. They went for a walk along the sands near Mumbles, Mr Robey wearing a line new overcoat. Presently they came upon some men throwing sticks into the sea for their dogs to retrieve:

One man was so confident of his dog’s capabilities that he threw out a very nice walking stick, whereupon the dog rushed out into the sea, but failed to locate the stick and returned to the shore without it. Quietly, and without saying a word, Robey walked into the sea up to hie neck, with his new overcoat still on, and brought the slick back. But why he did it no one, presumably, will ever know! In the ’nineties Mr Mozart used to meet a quee.’’ character in the stalls b.ar at the CanterbuiT Music Hall. He always wore black and was most generous in buying drinks for the performers. "What will you have, dear boy; you don’t look well.” he would say. What? You feel well; well you don’t, look it. You don’t drink enough; have some more rum, .it’s good for you. What? You’d rather have beer -beer is no good for you. Try a whisky—what, whisky kills people if they drink too much? —don’t be silly. Weil, a short life and a merry one for line—have another?” Later Mr Mozart fuiwid out that the man was the undertaker for the music hall profession!

PRINCES AND PEASHOOTERS. One of Mr Mozart’s first public appearances was at Sandringham with the Prince of 'Wales’s Own Norfolk .Artillery Band. Early one morning in the late ’seventies tliey came to play outside Sandringham House on the Prince’s birthday:

It was bitterly cold and the wind was blowing hard. Suddenly on the ground floor a window opened, and two boys appearing with peashooters began to blow peas at us with great gusto. Very good aim they had, too. They were the Prince of Wales’s two sons, the late King George V., and the Duke of Clarence. Mr Mozart tells a story of Beerbohin Tree that will be now to many people. At a rehearsal of ‘Joseph and Tlis Brethren,’ in which a flock of cheep were appearing, Lady Tree was finding fault with her husband’s directing. He stopped, listened and finally said: — “Please, my dear —please make .Home allowance for the big production I have undertaken. Why interfere? Look at the grand set —I have ('one this! ' Look at the crowd I have ■engaged! Look at the money 1 anr spending! I have even 12 speaking parts!" Just then, one of the sheep opened .its mouth and burst forth with a “Baa-baa." Tree turned towards it and said: “I beg pardon—l 3 speaking parts, my dear!” On. one occasion two music ball

managers got into conversation, one I was Charles Morton, of the fashionlable Palace Theatre in Shaftesbury Avenue, the other Johnny Hart, of I the Star, Bermondsey, a “tough” house in a poor district. This conversation ensued: — Johnny: “Good morning, Mr Morton. How’s business at your place?” Morton: “Not so good. Hart —not so good—you see most of my people are away for the hunting season.” Johnny: "Nearly all my lot are away, too- ” Morton: “What, hunting?" Johnny: "No hopping." Mr W. C. Fields, whom Mr Mozart knew in the days when he was a comic tramp juggler, had a story about two men seated at. a club table. They were betting each other with a 10-dollar bills, each Faying, "i’ll het you lOdol. you’re wrong,” and adding another note to the pile. W. C. Fields watched them with interest for a long time until the dollar bills had become' mountains high. At last they both acknowledged they had bet their last dollar. It. was then that W. C. Fields went up to them and said: — “Say, wit at are you two guys having bets about?” They both looked up at. him with stupid, drunken expressions and shook their heads. They had forgotten. Having started with a story about. saperPt ition. we might as well end with one. Mr Mozart was once talking on- the subject, to Charlie Austin, the Cockney comedian:--“Not me,” said Charlie, 1 m not a bit. superstitious. Why, I go under ladders; f don’t mind seeing the moon through glass, spill salt, cioss knives, never turn my money when 1 see a new moon. I’ve done them all many times and nothing ever happened to me.” and putting his hand on the table he. added: “Touch wood!