What a Life!

Jim Whelan

Description

Many people may not have heard of actor Jim Whelan but he has appeared in some of the most iconic programmes on British television over the past four decades, from Crown Court and Last of the Summer Wine to The Royle Family and Heartbeat. What a Life is the story of one man's passion for acting and his determination to follow his dream at all costs. From humble beginnings and an unpromising start, leaving school with no qualifications and few job prospects, Jim went on to enjoy a long TV career, receiving accolades from respected directors and working alongside such famous actors as Ray Winstone, Martin Clunes, David Tennant, Christian Bale and Rod Steiger. This autobiography explains how a shy and insecure Salford boy went from being a dockland worker to become a recurring character in Coronation Street and documents the successes and disappointments of a jobbing actor. In this honest account of his life Jim spills the beans on some of the big name stars he has worked with and provides the reader with a fascinating insight to the television industry and some of the larger than life characters who inhabit the world of 'soap'. This book is a riveting read that is certain to hold your attention from the first page to the last.

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 28 juillet 2011
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781908548214
• Langue: English

Extrait

Title Page


WHAT A LIFE!

The Autobiography of Jim Whelan







By Jim Whelan




Publisher Information

First published in 2011 by
Apex Publishing Ltd
PO Box 7086, Clacton on Sea, Essex, CO15 5WN, England
www.apexpublishing.co.uk

Digital version converted and published in 2011 by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com

Copyright © 2011 by Jim Whelan
The author has asserted his moral rights

All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition, that no part of this book is to be reproduced, in any shape or form. Or by way of trade, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser, without prior permission of the copyright holder.

Cover picture kindly supplied by Granada Television




Dedication


I would like to dedicate this book to Helen.



Vera’s Funeral

“I want complete and utter silence on set.” John Folkard was the floor manager who said those words; the people they were aimed at were some of the most famous in the land.
We were preparing to shoot the pivotal scene at Vera Duckworth’s funeral, and Jack was about to pay tribute to his beloved ‘swamp duck’.
Earlier Bill Tarmey had asked me to come outside to have a chat in between scenes while he smoked another fag.
I had first met Bill some 40 years earlier when we were both club entertainers. He had a fine voice, and we had worked together at Tonge Ward Labour Club in Bolton one miserable Friday night.
“I’ve told them I’m leaving this year,” Bill said “It’s getting too much.”
I can’t say it came as a complete surprise because he didn’t look well, he’d had heart trouble for many years and still couldn’t stop smoking; his breathing was laboured, and his chest rattled when he spoke.
I was playing my usual part as the Reverend Todd, officiating at Vera’s committal and my role was to say a few words and then ask if anyone wanted to speak.
As usual, my mouth was dry and my hands were trembling as the scene approached, you might think that it would be easy after so many years; it wasn’t.
We were in the tiny Crematorium Chapel in Southern Cemetery in Manchester and crammed into the pews looking on at Bill and I was practically the complete Coronation Street cast. It flitted through my brain that this scene would eventually be watched by up to 12 million people; I tried to put it out of my mind.
My first appearance in ‘The Street’ had been in 1965 and so much had happened to me since then.
I tried to forget everything else and concentrated fiercely on the scene.
“Action” said John.
After a few homilies, I said to the congregation, “Vera was a very special lady, would anyone like to say a few words?”
There was an awkward silence, and then Jack Duckworth spoke. “Yes vicar, I’d like to say something.”
Sniffles were heard from the congregation as Jack spoke simply and humbly about his first meeting with his ‘Vee’, how they had squabbled affectionately for many years and how he was missing her. The tears from the likes of Tyrone, Deirdre, Rita and Emily were not all the result of acting, many were genuine. This was the end of an era in Coronation Street .
Liz Dawn’s characterisation of Vera Duckworth had made her a much loved person, and although we knew that it wasn’t real, nonetheless the emotion of saying goodbye to her as a work colleague affected lots of the ‘regulars’.
I looked around the church and remembered my first meeting with so many of the senior Corrie actors. Barbara Knox, who played Rita Sullivan, and I had met at Oldham Rep in 1972 when we did a show together. Ann Kirkbride whose dad was a famous cartoonist used to come into the bar at that time; she was a delightful, pretty teenager and was trying to become an actress. Roy Barraclough was also an actor in the Oldham Company, as was Peter Dudley who went on to play Bert Tilsley; he sadly died much too young.
The tears pricked my eyes, and I was glad that I had no more dialogue when Bill finished his eulogy.
How had I, a scruffy war baby from the poorer part of Salford finished up as a recurring character in arguably the best known programme in the history of British television?
Why had I continued to follow my dream throughout my life, despite doing the usual things like falling in love, getting married, and bringing up a family?
I have been an actor for 50 years, drama school was never an option for me, my self confidence was never high and every time I landed a television job, I suffered from the nagging doubt that someone would tap me on the shoulder and say “hey you, you’re not an actor, get off the set.”
I have worked with terrific stars like Ray Winstone, David Morrissey, Jeremy Brett, Martin Clunes, David Tennant, Robert Carlisle, Christian Bale and Rod Steiger.
I have been directed by such luminaries as Michael Apted and Todd Haynes and have appeared in some of the most iconic programmes in the history of British television such as The Royle Family .
I have to pinch myself sometimes when I find myself alongside such stars as the brilliant Caroline Ahern, and although my status has rarely been higher than that of a ‘character actor’, no one can take away the memories of my having been involved with so many talented people over the years.
“OK everybody, that’s a wrap thank you very much indeed,” said John, and a spontaneous round of applause rang out.
Although the shoot had only taken three days, I was always sad to finish because I had no contract and might never be used again.
As we were taken back to the studio in limousines, the usual depression that I always felt when the adrenaline wore off kicked in. I knew that this wouldn’t last long, and my mind drifted back to my childhood.
1942 was the year of my birth, where had the time gone?




War Baby

“Right, free dinners over here”. We took our place in the queue and waited for fish with yellowing sauce, mashed potatoes and peas.
Nobody thought anything about the fact that there were more kids in the free dinners’ line than paying because in Salford just after the Second World War, everyone was poor. Our school dinners were eaten in a hall across the road from the school; they were delivered from a central kitchen about a mile away, and were often late. We sat on wooden forms at trestle tables, there was usually a cheer when the ‘dinner van’, a green Commer commercial, with a Salford City coat of arms on the side arrived. Then we lined up and they were doled out. There was always mashed spuds and gravy, but the particular horror as far as I was concerned was the fish on a Friday, which came with ‘white’ sauce. I could eat almost anything, but this defeated me. Being a good Catholic boy meant that no meat on a Friday was the norm, we didn’t question it, but I was left with a deep loathing of fish which continued for many years.
I used to wet the bed, bad enough for a sensitive child, but a hundred times worse was the fact that, knowing no better, and mam not realising, I would go to school wearing the same vest that I had peed on in the night. As the radiators heated up the classroom, I would reek of wee, and the other kids would call me ‘smelly Whelan’. I had a fight nearly every day because of this. I was convinced that I was inferior, and I have never been able to rid myself of the feeling that deep down inside me, I am rotten. It hurts me even now to admit that the sleeves of my jumper were silver with snot because I wiped my nose on them all the time.
My brother Christopher had started school a year before me. He was the oldest, I was next, my sister Eileen was two years younger than me, Philip was born on VJ day in 1945, and the youngest, Billy, came along in 1946. It hardly needs saying that five kids in seven years put a strain on the family finances.
Saint Thomas of Canterbury Catholic primary School did its utmost to indoctrinate us, we jumped to attention when Dean Daily, our parish priest, came into the class and we recited the Catechism to the best of our ability. My first teacher was Miss Brown, she was a kindly soul and did her best to instil some kind of discipline into a class of 36 mostly scruffy kids, but with nearly all of us she was wasting her time, we were cannon fodder, and destined for labouring jobs. The school work was never very demanding for me, I was mostly invisible apart from my fighting, but this was just the way I wanted it.
In our class there were three boys who might pass the Holy Grail of the 11 plus when we were ten but I was not one of them and just jogged gently along in the middle of the pack. As the second of five children to a first generation Irish family there was no reason for anyone to think that I was anything out of the ordinary and indeed any brains I might have had were kept well hidden.
Higher Broughton, Salford was a very mixed area. Just up the road from our house was Broughton park, a quite affluent Jewish area, and when we were young we used to ‘scrump’ apples from the gardens of the big houses. On a couple of occasions we were caught and told, that if we knocked on the door, we could have all the apples we wanted That had never occurred to us.
My very first memories were of the cold. I have since heard that 1947 was a really terrible winter, and I recall crying because I didn’t want to get out of bed onto a freezing co