Blackpool Opera House 1980

The stage door of the Opera House in Blackpool is one of the grandest in the UK. Situated in the 'Floral Hall' of the Winter gardens complex, a Victorian extravaganza of cast iron, glass and glazed tiles, the stage doors themselves are a pair of highly polished oak doors around 3m tall.

The doors lead you into a hallway where, back then, a  uniformed hall-keeper guarded the stage entrance like a rotweiler. I was there on the recommendation of the NATTKE union boss in Manchester. The previous day I had taken a train from Blackburn to Manchester and had turned up unannounced at the union offices opposite the library in St Peters Square. I asked if I could speak to whoever was in charge and this turned out to be the senior union official for the north of England.

I was shown into the office by a kind receptionist, who coincidentally  I reconnected with some years later when I started working at the Manchester Palace theatre and we shared many a lunchtime wandering around the City Art Gallery eating our sandwiches and giggling at the high camp victorian portraits. I explained to the official that I was mad keen on getting a  job in the theatre and although not yet a member of NATTKE, they represented all of the techies and so it made sense that they knew where all the jobs were. I think the guy was just bemused by this obviously clueless but keen 17 year old. He tried to see just how determined I was by suggesting that I could join the crew at the Grand Theatre Belfast (This was the height of the troubles in Northern Ireland). I said I would go anywhere. Seeing that I wasn't going to be put off so easily and that it was  looking increasingly likely that I was never going to leave the office without a job, he put a call into Eric Patterson, the Stage Director at Blackpool Opera House.  The summer season was fitting up and although no promises were made, I was told I could go and see Eric the following day and see if there were any jobs going.

Back to the Opera House stage door. I waited at the stage door to see the Stage Director. Crew members were going in and out of the inner doors and I was getting tantalising glimpses of set pieces and glowing lanterns each time the doors swung open. Eric, grey haired and distinguished looking came to meet me. He was wearing a fairly old fashioned tan coat like the ones worn by Morecambe and Wise when they played stage hands sabotaging Shirley Basseys appearance on their show. Eric looked me up and down and asked what experience I had. I tried to embellish what was a tiny amount of backstage work with the am-drams and some humping on rock and roll load outs. He asked me if I had ever flown and as he watched me calculate the odds of a lie working he put me out of my misery and said "can you pull a rope?" I nodded yes "I need a flyman. Can you start now?" And that was it. I was hired. I had no-where to stay and about a fiver in my pocket but I got into lift and up to the 3rd floor and started my brief tenure as a flyman.

At lunch-time, I called my parents and told them that I had a job and wouldn't be going home for at least 4 months. As luck would have it, my dad had an old friend who lived in Blackpool with his wife and they agreed to put me up temporarily until I could get myself something more permanent.