Better Late Than Never

by Len Goodman

  Well, bugger me, but the first person that came in asked, 'How much is the snake?'

  'Ah, the snake, that'll be £3 a foot.'

  John also had some swag shops; they were like pound stores today. One day he bought a container load of some stuff called Gunk.

  'It's green, slimy and treacly-like stuff that you can throw against a wall and it'll trickle down it. It looks revolting.'

  We were on our way to play golf and John had a can in his car. Most mornings the course was very quiet and this morning was no exception. When we finished our round we filled the hole where the flag is with Gunk. We really had to force it in. We then hid behind a building so that we could watch the next golfers who came along. As it happened it was two ladies. One of them was about to putt and the other went over to the flag to take it out, and, of course, as she did out oozed the squelching Gunk; it was like a scene out of Ghostbusters. The green keeper turned up and the three of them stood studying the situation; they probably thought they had struck oil. Knighty and me were hiding behind the building; we must have looked like a couple of schoolboys.

  John bought a shop in Dartford, which had been called Kerr's, and was originally a gentlemen's and ladies' outfitters. Some of the workings of this shop are now in Dartford museum. It had one of those pneumatic systems where the money went shooting upstairs somewhere to the accounts department who then sent back the receipt and any change. John had decided to turn Kerr's into another swag shop. One day, on our way back from golf, we nipped in to check on the progress of the builders. While Knighty was talking to the joiner I was poking about the place and came across a dismantled mannequin. As I was checking it out John came over.

  'Oh, look at that poor lady, why don't we put her back together again?' Having done so John suggested it was rather unfair to leave her naked, so we took her along to Dorothy Perkins – four doors along from John's shop – to buy her a frock and a hat. We christened her 'my dear' and decided to take her with us to the pub for lunch. The two of us walked into the King's Head in Bexley and sat her at a table, John put a fag in her hand and we went up to the bar to order two pints and, 'A gin and tonic for madam.' We sat talking and then had a sandwich. We left without her and for all I know she may still be there.

  Through John I met another one of my best mates, a travel agent named Mike Colley whose business was in Bexley Heath. Normally if we popped in to see Mike we parked in the car park of Hyde's, which was one of those old-fashioned department stores. Hyde's was just across the street from Mike's shop but when we got there we found their car park was closed, as they were laying tarmac.

  'No problem, Len, we'll go and park at the back of Colley's shop.'

  As it was raining we decided to go in through Mike's back door, but the only problem was that we were not sure which one was his as there was nothing to say which back door was which. We took pot luck and rang the bell, and as the young lad opened the door John realised it was the jewellers next door to Mike's travel agency. John was wearing an old Harris Tweed jacket and had his hand in his pocket.

  'It's a stick-up,' said John.

  Instead of seeing the joke, the lad pressed the panic button and ran to the front of the shop and out the main door. He then ran into Mike's shop and they pressed their panic button. The two of us decided to make ourselves scarce and crossed over the street into Hyde's – to hide. It was just before Christmas and so we sauntered into Santa's grotto – Santa was rolling himself a fag. Afterwards we told Mike Colley it was us; looking back we were bloody lucky to have got away with it.

  I was fortunate that I had great help in the dance school that supported me during this period, because I probably spent way too much time having a great time. It was as though I'd escaped from something. Don't take it as a criticism of Cherry: she and I had just fallen into our situation so I was just making up for what I perceived as a bit of lost time. We had really worked hard to build the Dartford school with Saturday morning children's classes, adult beginners' classes, classes for medal tests and lots of private lessons. Cherry had mainly done the beginners, while I mostly did the competitors. The funny thing with beginners is that some that come to a new class stay for just a week, don't like it, and you never see them again; others come for five or six weeks just to learn the basic steps. Then there's some who come for 20 years. I've even got people that came to my studio in the seventies that still come today. Some came as singles, met someone at the studio, married and they've got kids. Sometimes there was even great drama at the dance studio. One night a biggish man, who had been coming up to the school for about six or eight months, collapsed and stopped breathing. Fortunately two pupils who also happened to be nurses were there because he would have been brown bread if one of them hadn't given him the kiss of life and the other one pummelled his chest. He recovered, so it's easy to see the funny side of it, because as this was going on everyone sat around the edge of the dance floor looking on as though they were watching Casualty.

  One of my regular hangouts during the late seventies was a pub called the Fox and Hounds, which was in Green Street Green, just outside of Dartford. I would often pop down after work about 9.30; my mates had been there for hours so they were all nicely loosened. In actual fact, I wasn't used to pubbing it: it wasn't my thing because I never really had the opportunity while I was with Cherry. The landlords were Howard and Christine Smith, a really lovely couple with whom I became very friendly. Christine originally came from the Isle of Wight and was always taking the mickey out of me because during this period in my life I tended to go out with their barmaids. The pub was a ready-made dating agency. One evening I went in and there was a very attractive girl behind the bar – my first thought was 'nice of them to get a new one in for me'. Her name turned out to be Lesley, but she was not a new barmaid at all: she was a friend of Christine's who was just up visiting from the Isle of Wight.

  They say opposites attract; well, Lesley and I were like chalk and cheese. Me a scatterbrain, game for the lark, always up for the crack, whereas she was quiet, sensible and about to take up a nursing training course at St Bart's Hospital. John Knight, Howard and Christine all encouraged me to take her out while she was visiting for the week, not that I needed much encouragement, as she really was a looker. Well, we hit it off from the first date, despite the fact that I wasn't used to sensible conversation. One date led to another and we landed up going out virtually every night until she went home to the Isle of Wight. Then the strangest thing happened to me, something that had never happened before. When she left I actually found I missed her. I decided to telephone her on some pretext or other to see if she had got home safe. After a little conversation she said, 'Why don't you come down to the Isle of Wight next weekend?'

  There was no playing hard to get from me. 'I'll be down Saturday morning.'

  The following Saturday I was on the eight o'clock ferry. I remember thinking as I paid for my crossing how expensive it was for just a couple of miles of water. I stayed with Lesley, at her mum and dad's bungalow in a room in the roof. Lesley's parents, Les and Maureen, were a nice couple and I really enjoyed myself. Lesley was five or six years younger than me and she had already told me that she had been married before, although over the weekend a little more came out about her ex-husband. He was a bloke called Wilf Pine who had managed Black Sabbath. Lesley and Wilf had got married in Connecticut, with a whole bunch of Mafia bosses as guests!

  Lesley told me they had a house in Wimbledon and their friends the Osbornes – that's Sharon and Ozzy – used to stay there. This was a long time before they found fame on the television as a celebrity couple living the Hollywood dream. Sharon's father was an infamous music business manager named Don Arden, who seems to have had a very colourful life, if what I've read is anything to go by – this was the world that Lesley had left behind.

  Once I got back from the Isle of Wight and told John Knight a little about Lesley's background he went from encouraging me to go out with her to saying I should have noth
ing to do with her because of her ex.

  'You never know what he might do, Len, or worse, have somebody else do! It could all turn very nasty. Top tip, mate, if anyone comes to your door wearing sunglasses, don't answer it.'

  The problem was that I had fallen in love with Lesley, so anything he said I just ignored, or, more accurately, put to the back of my mind.

  Over the next few weeks, before starting her nurse's training at St Bart's, Lesley came to Kent a couple of times to stay at my house. Once she started training she stayed in their halls of residence, which were more like a prison than a hall. Her room had a bed, a sink and there was a communal bathroom – it was a long way from luxurious and all a far cry from driving around in her ex-husband's white Rolls-Royce and mixing with the stars. I would nip up to London to see Lesley and I must admit to not being very supportive of her ambition. Having said that, she was also quick to point out to me how much better my dance-school business could be if I ran it a little more professionally.

  I had no drive financially or for anything else really. I was happy with my dance school and having fun with my mates, but Lesley was much more ambitious and saw there was a good deal more potential from my business. According to Lesley her ex wasn't the most attentive of husbands, and while I might not have been the most attentive of husbands to Cherry I think all things are relative and I came out in front on that one. Lesley needed little encouragement to realise that nursing wasn't her forte and so after a very short time of us being in a relationship I convinced her to give it up and come and live with me and help me with the dance school. At first Lesley was a bit like me when I started to teach: she was just one step ahead of those she was teaching, which is all you need to be. I was the sort of front man for the whole thing and with Lesley and others who helped at the school we began to grow the business.

  Things rolled along pretty nicely for a year until out of the blue Lesley dropped a bombshell. She was pregnant. My initial reaction was a mixture of disbelief and uncertainty. Was this what I wanted? I was 36 when we found out that we were to have a baby, which at the time was a little older than most people when they have their first child. At that age you've become used to a way of life that suits you and it's a mix of shock along with some trepidation as to how you'll cope. My overriding fear was one of having to face up to the responsibility. We weren't married but that didn't make me feel any different about the situation. However, we had never even talked about having a child together, which made the shock even greater.

  A month or so before the baby was due we started work on the bedroom that was to be the nursery. I say 'we' because despite a life-long aversion to all things DIY I was determined to do something for myself for once. Lesley knew that this wasn't my strong suit but despite her counselling against it I went off down to Mr Discount to buy some brushes, a roller and emulsion. The future nursery had some fitted wardrobes in it in which Lesley kept many of her clothes; they had louvred doors, which was the very height of modernity back in 1980. In addition I bought four plastic dust covers so that I could cover literally everything. I was taking no chances. I covered everything not just once but twice. I placed the steps in the middle of the room and decided to emulsion the ceiling first. Not wanting to cover myself in paint I stripped to my underpants. I naturally left my socks on and found an old straw hat of Lesley's to avoid getting too much paint in my hair. I had barely taken two steps into the room when, on account of still wearing my socks, I slid on the plastic sheet and went arse over tit on to my back. All would have been well had I not been holding a full two and a half litre can of emulsion with the lid off. It flew up into the air and I watched as the paint came out of the tin, seemingly in slow motion, before it flew all over the louvred wardrobe doors. Despite her advanced state Lesley came running up the stairs on hearing the crash. Instead of seeing if I was mortally wounded she went straight over to the wardrobe; as she opened the doors she looked at me; we both knew what to expect. Just about every piece of clothing was covered in paint.

  This incident followed close on the heels of another monumental cock-up a couple of weeks earlier. This time it was Len, the cleaning man. For some unknown reason I decided that the dining-room table was dusty and needed polishing and so I went down under the sink and got out the furniture polish. I gave the mahogany table a lovely spray all over and within a second it started to foam up. I thought, this is going to come up lovely and shiny. As I went to put the can down, I noticed that it was a can of oven cleaner. I stripped the whole bloody table. It was then I decided that do it yourself and domestic work was not for me.

  On 26 January 1981, a Monday, I was woken up by Lesley. In my half-awake state all I could hear her saying was something about 'waters' and 'breaking'. I thought she meant a pipe had burst or we had a leak – up I jumped. 'Where, where?'

  She explained the baby was on its way; off we went to West Hill Hospital where I was actually quite well known. In the previous year I had done a marathon dance with all the kids at the dance school. They had to dance for five hours, every hour having a ten-minute break, and the money we raised went to the children's wards at West Hill. We bought four special beds that tipped up and they put a plaque on each saying, 'Presented by the Goodman School of Dancing.' All the dance school kids were invited to go to the hospital to see what they had achieved.

  After hanging about at the hospital for a while it was obvious that nothing was going to happen right away. One of the nurses suggested that I had time to go off and do anything I needed to do; she got no argument from me, as I'm no good with medical matters. Lesley was lying there and probably couldn't have cared less what I did.

  'I'll pop down the school and get the microphone that's broken and then take it to Jimmy Dides.'

  It had gone on the blink and whenever I had anything like that, Jimmy's was the place to get it fixed. His shop was in Hyde Street and had been in his family for over 100 years. Jimmy also came to the dance school, so on the previous Friday he had said to me to let him have it, and he would have it fixed by the Monday, as it was most likely just a loose wire. When I collected it he wouldn't even take any money, as it was just a soldering job. One of John Knight's Mr Discount wallpaper shops was just two doors from Jimmy's, so I popped along to see him to tell him that Lesley was up the hospital. Before I could say a word John looked at me and said, 'Are you from Radio Kent?'

  'Yes I am, I've come about the complaint that your floor is slippery and people keep falling over.' With that I thrust my mended microphone under the lady's nose. 'How's it for you?'

  She rubbed the floor with her foot and said, 'The floor's fine, it's not slippery at all.'

  'I'm here in Mr Discount in Dartford High Street where I'm speaking to one of the customers and she has agreed that the floor is no problem at all.' Just then another customer came in. 'Madam, could I ask you? Is the floor slippery?' I out-whickered Alan Whicker.

  'No, it isn't.'

  'Well, this is Len Goodman for BBC Radio Kent.'

  With that, I walked out and never even told John what was up at the hospital.

  Back at West Hill things hadn't moved on at all. Lesley was still groaning with no sign of anything about to happen. By four o'clock in the afternoon there was still no action on the baby front and classes were due to start at five. Lesley said, 'Why don't you go down and start the classes?' I had got somebody covering it but I left the phone number with the nurses in case there were any developments. At eight o' clock the phone went to say things had started to hot up, so I left and was back up at the hospital in five minutes flat. Lesley was going into theatre; I had no intention of joining her.

  'Are you coming in?' said the midwife.

  'No, I'd better not, I'll faint.'

  'Oh, come on, you'll be fine.'

  Rather than keep on arguing, in I went and parked myself at the head end rather than the business end; I enthusiastically joined in the urging.

  'Come on, girl, you can do it. Better out than in.'

&n
bsp; Finally, at 9.25 p.m. on Monday 26 January, James William Goodman arrived in the world; two days later and he would have shared a birthday with my dad. Now James was not my first choice of a name; the debate as to what to call him, if he was a boy, had been going on for weeks. My first choice was Len, but everyone, despite my spirited defence, soon discarded this.

  'Think about it! Len is such a good name. If he's an engineer then he can be Len, if he's a little bit gay and artistic, Lenny, if he becomes an author, Leonard. Its such a versatile name.'

  There was no way I was winning the argument. My next choice was Harry, but this was quickly rejected. Of course, once Prince Harry came along every other bugger's called Harry. According to Lesley's mother, and we had a real row over it, it's an ugly name and lacks class. So James it was, after my grandfather and William after one of my uncles.

  To say I was overjoyed is an understatement. Once Lesley was back in the ward I couldn't stop gazing at the funny little thing. I tried to slip the midwife a 20-quid tip but she was having none of it. After I left the hospital I couldn't stop smiling. I was so proud. The next day I bought a £20 Marks and Spencer's voucher for the midwife and two £10 vouchers for the other two nurses that had helped with the urging. After a bit of an argument they accepted them. It was money well spent. Having asked myself if this was what I wanted, I now had the answer. It was definitely the thing I wanted most in the world.

  Before all this business with babies, something happened with teenagers and the young that was a huge and totally unexpected bonus for the school. It had started in 1978 and in a completely accidental way; to begin with it was something I was totally opposed to. I was a ballroom and Latin American teacher: that's what I loved and that's what I liked teaching. But this was the year that disco had taken off, thanks to Saturday Night Fever. Everyone wanted to learn to dance like John Travolta and Karen Lynn Gorney, and there was no one in Kent to teach the moves.