Now That’s What I Call Music Hall

In an attempt to explain why I find the Victorian and Edwardian music hall so fascinating, the following is a fairly arbitrary collection of my favourite lines from music-hall songs. Some of these feature in my book Little Englanders: Britain in the Edwardian Era.

Herbert Campbell, ‘I Don’t Want to Fight’
(written: Henry Pettitt & T. Vincent Davies, 1878)

In 1877 Britain seemed on the brink of war with Russia, and G. H. MacDermott – the Great MacDermott, as he was billed – had a big hit with a song that covered its bellicosity in only a thin covering of pretended reluctance:

We don’t want to fight, but by Jingo if we do,
we’ve got the ships, we’ve got the men, we’ve got the money too.

‘MacDermott’s War Song’ was so popular that it gave us the word jingoism, to describe an extreme gung-ho patriotism, and the song is often cited as evidence of the reactionary nature of the music hall. Maybe. It’s certainly true that patriotic sentiment was strong in the halls, but it wasn’t the only tendency.
There was also the wish to laugh, to prick pomposity – and that applied even to self-dramatising patriots. So just a few months after MacDermott’s call to arms came a parody by Herbert Campbell that gave an alternative perspective:

I don’t want to fight, I’ll be slaughtered if I do.
I’ll change my togs, I’ll sell my kit, and pop my rifle too.

Harry Pleon, ‘On the Day King Edward Gets His Crown On’
(written: Harry Pleon & Mark Lorne, 1902)

The patriotism of the halls obviously extended to the monarchy, and Edward VII was popular in the halls. After all, he was himself an enthusiast, a man who’d invited stars such as Dan Leno to perform at Windsor. And he could play the banjo, having been taught by the black Canadian, James Bohee.
Even so, Harry Pleon’s song for the Coronation in 1902 was not entirely reverential. Using the Union Jack to patch up father’s trousers was at least a little cheeky:

Auntie’ll be dressed in khaki, ribbons all down her back.
We can’t afford to buy new clothes, but in loyalty we’ll not lack.
Ma’s going to patch up father’s pants with a piece of Union Jack
On the day King Edward gets his crown on.

Sam Mayo, ‘Wallah, Wallah, Wallaperoo’
(written: Worton David & Sam Mayo, 1910)

Much of music hall was simply silly. And deadpan Sam Mayo (The Immobile One) was one of the silliest, famous for songs like ‘Why Do Flies Go in the Winter Time?’ (1919) I love this one because of its cheerful disregard for geography, something that was entirely characteristic of Mayo’s work; in another song, ‘The Chinaman’ (1906), the protagonist was ‘known from Piccadilly up to Timbuktu’. Here’s it’s Indians who come from the Malian city.

Ladies, don’t be frightened, I’m an Indian,
I come from Timbuktu, three, four, five, six.
The day I sailed away it was a windy ‘un.
Be careful, girls, I’m full of Indian tricks.

T. E. Dunville, ‘Wide, Wide World Man’
(written: Charles Osborne & T. E. Dunville, 1898)

Even sillier was T. E. Dunville, an eccentric comedian who made his name in the 1890s and never really changed his act. His popularity declined over the years, he became increasingly depressed, and in 1924 he drowned himself in the Thames. Not entirely silly, then. But this is from his headlining days, a song in which he boasted of sailing on the Amazon, the Damazon, the Congo and the Pongo. It also included a fabulous line that was a tongue-twisting delight for drunken audiences:

At the Matabele ballet, I’m a bally hot ’un

Billy Williams, ‘Oh! Oh! Oh! (A Tale of Paris)’
(written: Fred Godfrey & Fred E. D’Albert, 1909)

As the previous two examples indicate, the music hall was a bit vague about the world outside Britain. One thing was certain, though: France was a place of loose morals. Here’s Billy Williams with a tale of a vicar visiting Paris without his wife and succumbing to the lure of the locals:

With a lady he was pally,
Quite entente-cordi-ally.

Wilkie Bard, ‘Put Me Upon an Island’
(written: Will Letters, 1908)

On the other hand, rather a temptress than a harridan. The music hall wasn’t overly impressed by the suffragettes:

Put me upon an island where the girls are few,
Put me amongst the most ferocious lions in the Zoo;
Put me upon a treadmill and I’ll never fret,
But for pity’s sake don’t put me near a suffragette.

Ella Shields, ‘Burlington Bertie from Bow’
(written: William Hargreaves, 1915)

Originally there was Vesta Tilley’s song ‘Burlington Bertie’ (1900), a comic portrait of a silly young ass who’s exploited by any number of young ladies. Then came this riposte (music hall liked answer-songs) about a man who aspires to such a life, but has no money. It was performed by Ella Shields, who, like Vesta Tilley, was a male impersonator. The best-known line is ‘I had a banana with Lady Diana’, but my favourite is this description of hunger:

So long without food, I forgot where my face is.

Marie Lloyd, ‘Every Little Movement Tells a Tale’
(written: Cliff & Moore, 1912)

At the peak of music hall, there was something close to a gender balance on stage (if not in the audience), and the Queen of the Halls was the great Marie Lloyd, unashamedly celebrating female sexuality. The words tended to be innocuous enough, but allowed her to nudge and wink her meaning to the audience:

Every little movement has a meaning of its own,
Every little movement tells a tale.
When she walks in dainty hobbles,
At the back round here, there’s a kind of wibble-wobble.

Lottie Lennox, ‘Look Out Boys! There’s a Girl About’
(written: Fred Murray & Charles Hilbury, 1906)

If, like most civilised folk, you’re a fan of the glam-pop songs that Mike Chapman and Nicky Chinn wrote for Suzi Quatro and the Sweet in the 1970s, you surely won’t be able to resist Lottie Lennox:

She’s a mesmeriser,
A hip-hip-notiser,
She’s the hottest thing that ever was alive.

Dan Crawley, ‘Father Keeps on Doing It’
(written: T.W. Connor, 1905)

Even in the men’s songs, male failings were regularly mocked. In particular, there’s a strong vein of songs in which the father of the household is thoroughly impractical, as in Billy Williams’s ‘When Father Papered the Parlour’. Dan Crawley’s song reveals a family patriarch so inept he can’t even boil a chicken properly:

The poor old cock’s as hard as rock,
and Father keeps on doing it.

Will Evans, ‘You Don’t Know, They Don’t Know, I Don’t Know’
(written: Sam Richards, 1900)

Wars tended to see the music hall fall into line behind Britain’s soldiers. But as the Boer War dragged on longer than had been expected, revealing the limitations of the army; something had clearly gone wrong. It couldn’t be blamed on Tommy, of course, so Will Evans instead pointed the finger at the War Office:

When they were wanted, they acted so dense,
Knew nothing of fighting and less of defence.
Where is their intelligence? Where is their sense?
You don’t know, they don’t know, and I don’t know!

Ernie Mayne, ‘Lloyd George’s Beer’
(written: R.P. Weston & Bert Lee, 1917)

The Great War sparked a host of songs, starting with jingoism and turning more serious as soldiers came home on leave and spoke about the realities of the conflict. There were domestic concerns as well, though, principally that the prime minister was said to be watering down the workers’ ale:

Lloyd George’s Beer. Lloyd George’s Beer.
At the brewery, there’s nothing doing,
All the water works are brewing
Lloyd George’s Beer. It isn’t dear.
Oh they say it’s a terrible war, oh Lor,
And there never was a war like this before,
But the worst thing that ever happened in this war
Is Lloyd George’s Beer.

Marie Lloyd, ‘If You Want to Get On in Revue’
(written: Sam Mayo, 1915)

One of Marie Lloyd’s wartime songs was about a soldier on home-leave finding that his sweetheart hasn’t been waiting for him. Instead she’s got a job on stage in a musical revue, and other men are hanging around. (It doesn’t exactly encourage signing up for the army.) It includes my favourite line of all. These stage-door johnnies will invite you to go for a ride in their car, Marie warns the young lady, and will encourage you to sit with them in the back seat. Don’t do it:

It’s as soft as a sofa, but you’re safer with the chauffeur

Sir Harry Lauder, ‘Keep Right on to the End of the Road’
(written: Harry Lauder & William Dillon, 1924)

Just before the Great War, Harry Lauder was reckoned to be the highest-paid entertainer in the world, and when hostilities started he threw himself into war work, for which he was awarded a knighthood, the first music-hall star to be honoured. His son, Captain John Lauder of the Argyll & Sutherland Highlanders, was killed in December 1916, and some years later, Harry spoke of loss and duty: ‘I am glad that he and I lived in those days when men were patriotic and brave, and brave and kind and willing.’ The same message was in the song he wrote in memory of his son:

Keep right on to the end of the road,
Keep right on to the end.
Though the way be long, let your heart be strong,
Keep right on round the bend.
If you’re tired and weary, still journey on
Till you come to your happy abode,
Where all you love and you’re dreaming of
Will be there at the end of the road.

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