“Just sing, sing in the train”
The Perth Mirror reported, on 1 April 1922, of “Hit, Skits, and Sketches”, whatever that might mean, but in the process told the following story of fellow travellers on a train.
A young man in evening dress was sitting by the train window in company of two fair young women (‘tres chic, tres decollete”, whatever that might mean). In the same carriage was a sweet, old-fashioned lady with two not-so-young, prim and grim women whom the narrator supposed were her spinster daughters — how unkind narrators can be. While the youth was in earnest converse with one of his pretty companions, the other took up her ukulele and began to tune the beast. Job done, she threw back her head and began to strum and sing “And when all is said and done, there is really only one, oh Margie, Margie it’s you.” (Not quite the ballad that I expected, but cute).
Someone suggested taking the hat around, but the spinsters would have frozen him, and the sweet old things was too shocked to move. Nevertheless, the songs continued for a station or two, and then the flappers and the young gent make their exit — dancing of the train and down the platform to the strains of a ukulele. No, we are told, this was not a story from Paris — who thought it was? — but down-town Milson’s Point station, Sydney.
What fun they had back in the day.
Home made ukulele — from match-sticks!
The Horsham Times reported, on 2 December 1932, that some people take recycling too seriously.
Mr. Donald McDonald made a ukulele from used match-sticks, complete with ivory bling from a hair clasp.
It took 200o match-sticks to complete the project. I hope Mr. McDonald wasn’t a smoker.
A more recent attempt (and a pretty good looking one) may be seen here.
Billy Barnes, Ukulele Ace
I came across the ‘memoirs’ of an Irish-Australian entertainer named Billy Barnes. They were printed in short bites in the Mirror newspaper of Perth, Western Australian during 1953.
Billy was a guitarist and ukulele player who played on many stages across Australia in the 1930s and 40s. He had a 10 minute radio spot on 6PR (Tuesdays and Thursdays at 6:35pm), and, unsurprisingly, he taught people to play ukulele.
He got his nick-name while appearing at the Theatre Royal in Sydney. A cast member fell sick and Billy was asked to fill in — he did so by playing a solo on the ukulele. As the ukulele was commonly used simply to accompany singing, people were amazed to see that it was an effective melody instrument. Several papers covered the story of the melodious ukulele player, and one reporter dubbed Billy ‘The Ukulele Ace’.
I haven’t been able to find a recording of Billy in action. If you find something, please let me know.
Walking from Melbourne to London, with ukelele in hand
In 1930, two young women (Gladys Turvey and Madge Salter) walked from Melbourne to Sydney hoping to find a free passage back to London. They had only 3 shillings and 11 pence, and a ukulele. Some adventure, said the Register Post of Adelaide on 18 December. They got to Sydney OK, but I haven’t yet learned if they got their free trip back home to London.
Gladys and Madge
The Barrier Miner (16 December) said that the women hitch-hiked most of the way, doing day work on farms for a meal and a bed. The Register said they arrived in Sydney with 3/11 and uke, the Barrier said that they left Melbourne with 3/11 and a uke. So, if both papers are telling the truth, the women must have done sufficient work for their needs.
Learning to fly easier than learning the ‘ukelele’
The Adelaide Mail reported on 4 January 1930 that ukelele playing is more complicated than flying an aircraft. Flying Officer J. A. Mollison said so.
So, from the article we might apply the following as much to learning the ukulele as the flying officer did to learning to fly:
- It provides a means of entertaining one’s friends (just like learning to fly)
- It provides an opportunity to wear something out of the ordinary (ditto)
- It requires some level of physical fitness
- Those learning to play ukelele can be divided into 3 classes:
- the intelligent, requiring 5 to 7 hours of dual instruction
- the average, requiring 7 to 10 hours dual instruction
- the stupid (could they say that back in 1930?), requiring 10 hours to infinity of dual instruction
- It is not expensive to buy or maintain a light ukulele (about the same as purchasing and running a good car.)
- One gets to move around swiftly (neighbours and family will see to that)
- The first lesson (which takes place on the ground) includes an explanation of the controls, and some risk of being heartbroken at not being able to get the ukelele to do what is required of it.
- You will soon find that you are making definite progress
- After what seems an interminably long period of time, you will have sufficient skill to play solo.
- There is a social side too — ukelele clubs are invariably a hotbed of scandal (really, folks, here I’m only replacing the words ‘aircraft’ and ‘aerodrome’ with ‘ukelele’ and ‘ukelele club’).
- But, when all is said and done, ukelele playing is now disappointingly safe — but there is no need to let everyone know this. Any ukelele player worth their salt will still tell hair-raising stories of how the bridge fell off during a tricky manoeuver.
- Finally, to play ukelele is the long sought-after panacea — and appeals equally to the ‘neurotic spinster’ (I’m quoting here) or the bored father of a large family (can such a creature exist?).
So there you are. Learning to play ukelele is similar to, but a bit more tricky than, learning to fly. It has similar advantages and challenges. I don’t believe a word of it.
George Formby in the news
In 1939, it was reported, George Formby deliberately threw his ukulele into the sea. The Sunday Times of Perth (9 April) reveals the George had collapsed during a performance at the Palace Theatre, and his Doctor told him that he had to stop playing the uke, not sing even for a child’s birthday party, and cut down his smoking to 6 cigarettes a day. Complete rest is what was needed or he’d lose his voice. So he hopped a boat to the West Indies, and, with a quick “Sorry old pal, but t’s got to be done”, threw the uke over the side.
On a happier note, in December 1947, — obviously after a good rest – the Agrus of Melbourne reports that George received a standing ovation from the crowd at the Tivoli as few other performers ever had. “Sing us another one” was the constant call from the stamping and whistling crowd. He also led the crowd in some community singing in a way few other performers would attempt. The show was entitled, “It turned out nice again”.
Creepy “Ukulele Lady” under the Rain Tree — Wasted
J. Edward Brown wrote a story for the Australian Women’s Weekly, which appeared in the issue of 23 July 1969. It was called “Ukulele Lady”, and Richard A. Whiting’s great old standard of 1925 was to terrify Glenda, the wife of the new Resident Commissioner of a South Sea Island.
A former Resident Commissioner had been murdered in his bedroom by a native with a bush knife. The murderer was later found under a Rain Tree calmly playing “Ukulele Lady”, on a ukulele. And even now, many years later, it is said that ghostly strumming of that tune can be heard on nights when the moon was full.
Glenda, upon hearing the story, dutifully and singularly, heard the sound of the ukulele and “Ukulele Lady” every full moon. She never dared lift the large bedroom rug that was said to cover the blood stains. Contemplating these things drove her to drink. (WC Fields said that a woman drove him to drink, and he never had the courtesy to thank her — but that’s another story).
Anyway, with such a promising start, the story fizzles through a few bouts of imagined ukulele playing and tiptoeing over a shaggy rug until she decided to peak under the rug, saw nothing, then started happily whistling … you guessed it, “Ukulele Lady” — no one else was murdered, no apparitions, no gurgled screams, just her laughing at herself at the end of a very dull and unfunny story.
Ripped off.
Ukelele Unwitting Aid to Crime
The New Zealand Evening Post of 18 May 1921 report on a romantic outing the went badly wrong for Melbourne Jeweller, D. Morrison.
He said he had been ‘the victim of a cunningly devised plot in which a young woman had acted as a decoy.’ The woman came into his shop some nights ago, bought a pair of earrings and told the interested jeweller that she just loved motoring. Morrison said that he had a car, and the lady let him know, coyly, that she was not unwilling to take an evening drive with him.
Morrison met the lady and they motored to Hampton Beach, where they sat for an hour near the water’s edge. The lady had said she was found of music, and Morrison had brought his ukelele. As they sat romantically on the beach, he played to her.
The jeweller thinks that the lady encouraged him to play so that they could be located. Morrison was suddenly attacked by two men, who had followed in a car and crept up behind him. He was hit on the head and he pretended insensibility. He was trussed up, and the men went through his pockets. The lady stood calmly by. Presently they found his keys.
One of the men and the woman drove off, leaving the other man to guard Morrison. The two returned about two hours later and picked up the third, leaving Morrison on the beach. Morrison managed to free himself and alerted the police. He and the law went immediately to his shop where they found the glass door broken in, but the steel inner door dented but in tact. I suspect that this was the end of this jeweller’s willingness to believe the overly eager friendliness of young women.
