by Len Goodman
Cherry looked at me and smiled, so I knew she liked me in it.
'What do you think, Mr Kingston?' I asked, thinking to myself that I did look pretty dashing.
'Oh yes, Len, oh yes. It's fabulous.' As he walked around me, he ran his hand across my back and shoulders. 'There's not a crease, Len, it's just perfect. I told you they were the best. Okay, take hold of Cherry and let's see you do your first dance in your new suit. We'll do a quickstep.' Cherry came towards me but as I raised my arms from the horizontal it caused my tailcoat to ride up my back by about four inches; my head sank into the jacket as I metamorphosed from Fred Astaire into Quasimodo meets the Incredible Hulk.
'Len, Len, what's happening?' You can see what's bloody happening, I thought. 'Didn't you tell them you were a ballroom dancer?'
'Yes, it was just about the first thing I said.'
'Didn't they get you to stand in the dancer's hold position?'
'No!'
'Well, you should have made them do that.'
You were the one who sent me there saying they were the best, is what I thought, but I decided that he was so upset at this point that anything I might say would only make matters worse. With just two weeks to go before the competition I had no chance of getting a new tailcoat made.
At that moment Joy Tolhurst came in; she'd probably heard her husband's raised voice. 'Oh dear, Len, what have you done?'
What I wanted to say was I've been up to London four times, had three fittings, a man stick his hand up my crutch and, more to the point, my mum's done 100 quid and everyone is blaming me. At the same time I was resigning myself to the fact that I was not going to be dancing in tails, possibly not dancing at all. My big moment had been ruined.
Just then Henry shared his master plan. 'Look, it's too late to get them to do anything, we'll fix it.'
'How?' I very nearly swore, I was so frustrated.
A few minutes later Joy reappeared carrying what looked like two nappy pins.
'Stand still, Len.' I did as I was told before feeling the two former world champions behind my back fiddling around under my tailcoat.
'We're going to pin the jacket to your trousers, just where the fork in the tail is,' Joy told me.
'Won't it look odd having a jacket with a safety pin in the back?'
'Don't be silly, Len, we'll pin it underneath the jacket so no one will see.'
Having done it, Henry and Joy stood back to admire their work.
'Looks great, Len. You can't see the pins. Now take a hold of Cherry.'
They were right, my jacket no longer rode up and I was once again doing a passable impersonation of Fred Astaire. At least I was until they looked at my feet.
'Oh dear.'
I don't think Astaire ever had two inches between the bottom of his trousers and the tops of his shoes!
'It's not going to work,' I said.
'Oh yes it will,' said Henry as both he and Joy spent the next three quarters of an hour trying to get it sorted. I kept alternating between a man with no neck and a kid who'd outgrown his trousers. Finally they gave up on the nappy pins. Time for plan B...
They called in reinforcements. 'Pauline, can you pop round the haberdashery shop and buy some very thick knicker elastic?'
On her return she joined Joy and Henry as they set to work on my jacket. They pinned the bits of elastic to the back of the tails of the jacket and then took the elastic up inside the jacket, under my arms, across my back and pinned it to the inside of the jacket. It was so tight it virtually cut off the blood supply to my arms. Finally we had achieved a solution, but my brand-new tailcoat was not as God, nature or Hawes and Curtis had intended it to be.
Having sorted everything out sartorially-wise, it was time to begin practising in my new tails. I'd begun to get used to Henry's training methods, which were, to say the least, a little unorthodox. A few weeks earlier he said to me as we finished our session, 'Len, do you have a small rucksack?'
'No, I don't but I think my stepdad has.'
'Well, ask if you can borrow it and bring it in with you next time,' said Henry.
I did and to my amazement he loaded weights into it and made me dance all evening while carrying it on my back. He said it helped to keep my back straight and my shoulders back. I can't argue with him, because it worked.
Another time he said to me, 'Len we need to work on keeping your arms straight.' He pointed towards the studio wall. Leaning against it was a contraption that looked part cross, part drainpipe and part medieval torture device. He took hold of it and strapped me to it with my arms resting in the bits that looked like guttering. By adjusting the straps it altered my arm position but it ensured that once I was in it there was no way I could drop my arms from the correct position. To begin with, it really made my arms ache, but in time I got used to it; it certainly helped to ensure I always had the correct posture.
'Remember, Len, your arm should be straight and your hand shouldn't look like it's revving a motorbike! It should be straight to.'
I'd spend hours just concentrating on that one aspect of my dancing: I did it over and over again until it became a habit, and was totally ingrained in my brain. Lessons once learned, never forgotten.
Quite rightly, from his point of view, Henry was not about to have me bugger off for a week alone with his lovely daughter. 'I'll be sending Iris with you to help out.'
Iris was another part-time teacher at the school and what he meant was for her to keep an eye on us. We had to book and pay for a week, but we went down the day before the competition and came home the day after. On the morning we were to leave for Camber Sands, Henry Kingston gave me a pair of cufflinks. They were gold with a little pearl in the middle – they were absolutely beautiful.
'Len, I'd like you to have these. I wore them when I won my first championship and I hope they bring you luck.'
It was such a kind and lovely thing to do. I still have them; those cufflinks are one of my most treasured possessions.
Henry also shared a vital piece of information with us. 'You'll be all right because a very good friend of mine, Frank Mayne, is the director of dance for Pontin's. I've told him you're coming, so you will win.'
Now if this sounds like it was fixed, it was, kind of, but we would have won anyway – trust me! Everyone else was just regular holidaymakers shuffling around and by this time we were getting very good. But it's also true to say there was some phoning around done back in those days. I'm sure Henry phoned Frank and said, 'Look, it's my daughter and her partner, they'll be okay, won't they, Frank?'
Not only were we very good, but also I was dressed in my tailcoat and the whole works, added to which Cherry wore a stunning dress and looked gorgeous. We looked like we'd just stepped off the set of a Busby Berkeley movie, while the regular holidaymakers wore whatever they had taken with them to the camp. I imagined the campers deciding to go in for the competition with a 'Come on, Flo, let's give it a go.'
When we finished our waltz and quickstep all the holidaymakers stood up and clapped. It was the first time I'd ever been applauded for my dancing and I was really chuffed. It was also the first time I danced to a real live band; previously it had always been records so that added another dimension to the whole experience. It's one of the things I love about Strictly Come Dancing and Dancing with the Stars – the live orchestra. I'm forever chatting with the musicians, all of whom really enjoy doing the shows. Back in the fifties and sixties there were thousands of musicians playing live all over the country, but the opportunities to do so now are far less. Every holiday camp had its own band and there's nothing like dancing to a full-size dance band.
Having won at Camber Sands we were told that the next round of the dancing competition was to be held over a weekend at Osmington Bay, which is near Weymouth in Dorset. We had practised really hard for the Camber Sands event and while I had looked forward to it, I hadn't, if I'm honest, been that bothered whether we got through to the next level; but having experienced the live band and e
verything else I was now completely hooked.
The Osmington Bay event was a whole different affair. It was obvious that there would be other novices, probably in a similar position to us: some of them may have been dancing longer and some may even have won some competitions. We on the other hand had the advantage of Cherry's dad coaching us. To get to the final we had to finish in the top 12, so the pressure was on – just a little bit.
Iris didn't come with us to Dorset in late October; this time Henry Kingston himself came along. This was serious. This was a bit like Arsene Wenger turning up to watch two Sunday pub teams on Hackney Marshes. I'm sure Henry knew all the judges and they couldn't have failed to know who Henry's daughter was – they had the same name! However, we were getting better and better from his coaching and, I have to say, through our commitment to practising. We also were developing a really good understanding as a dancing couple. Anyway, we finished in the top 12 and so it was next stop the finals.
We decided that appearing at the Royal Albert Hall in a tail suit with ladies' knicker elastic as an integral part of its design was perhaps not the best idea. It also took ages to adjust the elastic so the correct pressure was maintained. What would happen if it snapped during a dance?
'We'll go and see Hawes and Curtis together, Len. We'll get them to sort out their mistake,' Henry suggested, and so we went up to London together. When we walked into their shop in Dover Street we were met by the man who did the writing down.
'Oh no, sir, I don't think I can agree with you on that. It's certainly not our fault,' said the man.
If you'd spent a little less time fiddling with my fork then perhaps it wouldn't have happened, was all I could think. Despite his insistence that it wasn't their fault he was still mortified by what had happened and began to get a little more helpful. They started hacking the jacket about and a week later I got a perfect tailcoat. All for just £25 more.
Years later a mate of mine asked to borrow the suit because he was going to a fancy dress do. Afterwards he called me to say that he'd been sick over it and so he was getting it dry cleaned before returning it. I never saw it again and lost touch with the guy that borrowed it, all of which makes me sad, as it is one of those things I would love to have kept. So Norman Barrel, if you're out there and still have it, I'd like to try it on to see if it still fits.
There was no question: my remodelled tail suit perfectly complemented the Victorian splendour of the Royal Albert Hall. Having never been inside such a place before I was shocked and a little amazed by everything that day. The event was quite a feat of organisation, as all the various different finals were to take place over the course of one day; one minute it was the Miss Lovely Legs, next it was the ping-pong final. The dancing competition was scheduled for the end of the evening and so there was quite a bit of waiting around. The 12 couples took it in turn to dance to Joe Loss and his Orchestra, who were fabulous; a big step up from the holiday camp bands. We got down to the last six and in the final round the 11 judges decided we were the winners. Henry and Joy were there to see it; it was the proudest day of my life to that point.
Fred Pontin himself presented us with our prize and we had our picture taken with him and Henry Kingston. The fact is that Henry was held in awe by many of the professional judges, so it was no wonder they took notice of us. I learned a lot from my first competition. Ballroom dancing is much like a sport; dedication, training, fitness and a strong work ethic all come into play. Dancing is no different from serious sports. If you really want to progress to a high level it'll never happen without a huge amount of effort.
So, there it was: my first win in a novice competition. I was so elated I felt more like a world champion than the winner of a holiday camp competition. At the risk of sounding big-headed I felt like we were unbeatable, the confidence of youth, I suppose, but I knew how good Cherry was as a dancer and in Henry Kingston we had a brilliant coach. I remember lying in bed thinking this is my destiny, I could be a champion ballroom dancer, winning competition after competition and with luck some day I'd be a world champion. Naturally, it didn't quite work out like that.
The next week it was back to training. Before we started Henry had something to tell us. He was confirming my idle fantasies – kind of.
'As you know I'm very proud of you and what you did, but it's just the start. You've won one holiday camp competition and now you have a chance to enter another; this one's organised by Butlins in association with the News of the World.' He went on to explain it was called Dancing Stars of Tomorrow and it was another rung for novice dancers on the ladder of competition dancing, but he stressed that it was a step up from Pontin's.
'It'll be a lot stiffer competition than last time and you won't necessarily even make the final. There are some regional heats all over the country and the first three from each of these will go through to the grand final. It's at the Albert Hall again. There'll be 36 couples that will be whittled down to 24, and then the 24 will become 12, and then a final dance-off of six couples will decide the winner.'
There was one other problem, as Henry went on to explain.
'It's three dances: a waltz, a quickstep and a cha-cha-cha.'
I'd never ever danced any Latin American, a problem compounded by the fact that Henry Kingston only coached ballroom, never Latin – it was a case of never the twain could meet, in the world of professional dance coaches. Before I could object or offer a comment, which I'm sure Henry was expecting, because even then I was not slow in speaking up, he said:
'You will have to go to a Latin teacher. I have someone in mind so I will phone her tomorrow and book a lesson.'
The someone was a lady called Nina Hunt whose dance studio was in Balham. It's a strange thing but in the late sixties and seventies most of the top ballroom and Latin teachers were based in South London. There were Bill and Bobbie Irvine, Walter Laird, Len Scrivener, Sonny Binick, and Wally Fryer, a near-endless list of former champions. There are two different types of dance teacher: there's your bread-and-butter teacher who would just teach the general public social dancing, and then there are the coaches that only work with competitors. If you reach a certain level you went to one of the coaches. We, or rather I, was a long way from the standard that would normally get sent to a coach.
'Okay. Len, it's all arranged – you and Cherry will have a lesson with Nina Hunt on Friday.'
This was the equivalent of sending someone that had never played golf, other than pitch and putt, to have a private lesson with Tiger Woods.
Cherry and I went over to Nina's basement studio, which was just off Balham High Road; simply finding the place was a challenge. As we walked in, through what we took to be the door of her studio, we bumped into a lady.
'Oh, excuse me, are you Miss Hunt?' I asked.
'No, I'm bloody well not, she's next door.'
I later discovered that this was Nellie Duggan, the wife of Len Scrivener, who I would later learn a great deal from. I also learned that Nellie was a lady known for speaking her mind. We hurried out and headed down an alleyway to a door that led to Nina Hunt's studio. I remember thinking, I hope she's not from the same mould as the woman we'd just met. As we walked in my jaw dropped. Having a lesson were John and Betty Wesley, the reigning British amateur champions; by this time I was beginning to keep up with who was who in the dance world. As Cherry and I sat in the small changing room, which was just a partitioned-off bit of the studio, I could hear them talking about fans and hockey sticks, and a whole load more technical jargon.
'Cherry, I'm really not sure about all this.'
'Don't worry, Len. You'll be fine,' said Cherry, trying to put me at ease.
'It's fine for you! You've been dancing since you were two, while I've been dancing for less than a year,' I reminded her.
At that point Johnny Wesley walked into the changing room and we walked out to the studio, which was about the size of a large living room; it also had a pillar slap bang in the centre.
'Hello, Cherry.
How's your father? How's your mother?' asked the slim woman of around 40, who I assumed was Nina Hunt. It was as if I was invisible. Eventually, after chatting away to Cherry for a few minutes, she finally noticed me.
'And who are you?'
'I'm Len.'
'What would you like to dance, Len?'
'We'd like to learn the cha-cha-cha, please.'
'Okay then, show me your routine and we'll work from there.'
Luckily for me the Wesleys chose that moment to leave the studio, so sparing me the embarrassment of hearing me explain that we hadn't got a routine.
'What do you mean you haven't got a routine?' asked Miss Hunt, who clearly couldn't believe what she'd just been told. 'Well, just show me the basic steps, then.'
'I don't know the basic steps, I've never done the cha-cha-cha.'
As I heard the words coming out of my mouth I was thinking, why me? Can somebody get me out of here? I was just like most of the contestants on Strictly Come Dancing at their very first session. I felt humiliated, which is not something any of us enjoy. Then to my amazement Nina Hunt laughed. 'You know what? I haven't taught anyone basic cha-cha-cha for almost 20 years.'
With that she took hold of my elbows. And so it was that Nina Hunt, one of the leading coaches of Latin American dancing in the world, started me on the road to loving Latin American dancing. That first lesson made me appreciate the wonderful rhythms of Latin, the freedom that not being in contact with your partner brings. While I loved my ballroom I found, as the weeks progressed, that I actually loved Latin more. Not that we had long to think too much about it. We only had six weeks to master the cha-cha-cha before the first round of the Butlins competition.
Although I was still working at the docks for Harland and Wolff dancing was taking over my life. I spent every waking moment thinking about dancing and trying to be better at it. Even at work I was forever dancing around, and naturally all the blokes took the mickey: 'Show as your rise and fall, Len.'
