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The sad loss of Donald Sinden today was made worse by the fact that I already thought he was dead, so today I found out that he had actually been alive all along, but was now dead. Which is twice as bad as him just dying. I made my usual “curse†joke on Twitter saying that the incredibly slow-acting curse of “Never The Twain†was finally taking effect (though @parnamjazz pointed out that 2014 is actually the year of the Curse of “Two’s Companyâ€, as we’ve lost Elaine Stritch as well). I had to then go and check if Windsor Davies was still alive and was relieved to find out that he was. Much more relieved than I imagined I would be. I realised how much I loved Windsor Davies and then made myself feel properly sad by realising that he would one day die. Why did I care so much about Windsor Davies? As a cool comedy fan teenager I had eschewed his work on “It Ain’t 'Alf 'Ot Mum†and once (with the same friends who had heckled Ted Rogers on Weymouth Pier) saw his co-star Don Estelle in WHSmiths is Weston-super-Mare, flogging his tapes, dressed in full Lofty costume and shouted abuse at him until he flicked the Vs at us. But obviously that was all for show. The childhood years where Windsor had been one of my biggest comedy stars took precedence. I felt amazed at the nostalgic affection I have for the actors I disdained as a surly teenager but clearly adored as an unaffected child.
But my Twitter reminiscences led to me being tweeted this blog about Don Estelle’s autobiography, which made me cry with laugher. I tried to track down the book itself, but it’s way too expensive to buy now. Lots of people were tweeting about seeing Estelle in various shopping centres and Smiths stores in the 1980s. Clearly he made his living, rather sadly schlepping around the country flogging his music in any store that would take him (I mean I do the same, but at least I’ve done a show first). It’s interesting that Estelle is making the same complaints about clueless executives not being as good as the ones in his day that seemingly all former TV stars make. It’s easy to like the executives who are employing you, harder to accept that you yourself might take any of the blame. But Jane Root was definitely at fault taking Lee and Herring off the telly.
Showbiz is a cruel and strange profession. To see someone forced to cling to the one success they had in their life, left behind by his “Never The Twain†superstar colleague, unable to move on.
The TMWRNJ DVD should be coming out next year. It anyone from Woolworth’s Head Office is reading, I’d love to tour your many stores. Or maybe be on your famous Christmas ad?
Danny Baker (who has apparently also championed the Estelle auto-biography) tweeted me to tell me that Windsor Davies’ brothers were called Tudor and Stuart. Which is quite a fact.
In a sense it’s a shame that all this came out of the death of Donald Sinden, and there were none about him. But Never The Twain came too late for me to allow myself to enjoy it. And it’s too late to celebrate Sinden now. If you’re reading Windsor (and it’s unlikely, but you never know), then thanks for all the laughs and for imprinting your furious face on to my subconscious. I promise when you die that I will tweet, “Oh dear, what a pity, never mind.†Unless I die first, in which case I’d like you to do the same.
