Peter Rhodes: A personal pantomime tribute

On this day 50 years ago – Boxing Day 1969 - I was sitting in the bar of the Theatre Royal, Nottingham, having breakfast. There were about half-a-dozen of us around the table: a couple of chorus girls, a singer or two and Peter Butterworth, comedy legend of the Carry On films who was starring in Merry King Cole.

It was not the jolliest of meals. The panto had opened on Christmas Eve, the cast and crew then got Christmas Day off to see their families but had to be back in Nottingham for the Boxing Day show.

The conversation buzzed, then fell silent. All eyes turned to Butterworth. And the words he spoke have stayed with me ever since for they perfectly capture the bitter-sweet phenomenon we call pantomime.

On the surface it is all glitter, glamour, belly-laughs and toothy smiles. It is a magnificent illusion and for reporters on local papers it brings an annual encounter with big stars. If it were not for panto I would never have had breakfast with Britt Ekland, elevenses with Linda Lusardi or tea with Danny La Rue (although not all on the same day).

What the punters never see is the reality behind the illusion, the grim, damp digs where the lesser performers live, the sweat-stinking rehearsal rooms, the endless repetition of difficult numbers, the tyranny of some directors and the hideously unglamorous business of dealing with child stars who get nervous and throw up, or the donkey who was fine in rehearsals but emptied his bowels centre-stage as the first-night lights went up.

A few days ago, as the nation unveiled its latest crop of pantos, Richard David-Caine, best known for Horrible Histories, said his role as Captain Hook in Peter Pan was "intense". He calls panto “one of the hardest jobs in the profession.”

Panto is hard but it is memorable. It stamps itself into our little minds before we are in long trousers and it accounts for the curious cultural fact that British kids see their first theatre show at a much earlier age than in most other countries.

It works because the cast and crew strive hard to make it work, hitting every high note and polishing every joke. In my experience over half a century, panto folk are lovely people, part of a profession riddled with insecurity and self-doubt and so superstitious that even a simple “good luck” is regarded almost as a death sentence. The only acceptable parting words, as Widow Twankey heads for the stage, is the bizarre wish that she might fracture a lower limb.

So what did the comedy maestro Peter Butterworth have to say about panto at that breakfast 50 years ago today? He said: “What a bloody silly way for a married man to be spending Christmas.” And then he looked up and smiled. It was the smile that said, even if we'd rather be at home with the family, the show must go on. And it does. And we love it. Break a leg, boys and girls.