Our festive parturition correspondent Angus Young marks the 100th anniversary of the birth of one of Hull’s favourite sons. At least, until his mic breaks…
We all know about the little chap from Bethlehem but when it comes to Christmas Day births, there’s really only one worthy of our attention here at Curiosity Towers. Of course, we’re talking about the one and only Norman Collier. The late king of comedy was born in Hull on December 25, 1925 so what better way to celebrate what would have been his 100th birthday than a look back on the great man’s life?
Norman was the eldest of eight children, brought up in a classic two-up two-down terraced house with no hot water. He later attributed his sense of humour to being the eldest kid in the house. “It fell to me to go on errands and I even had to wash the kids. I used to heat up the water, stand the children on the table, wash them one at a time and put them to bed. We were like rats in a box.”
After serving as a Royal Navy gunner during the Second World War, he worked as a labourer and married his wife Lucy in 1948. Thanks to post-war rationing, he would later recall the highlight of their wedding reception was a bit of boiled ham. In the same year his life would change forever. On a night out with friends at the Perth Street Social Club, he volunteered to go up on stage for the first time after the booked comedy act failed to turn up. “It was as if I’d been doing it all my life,” he said later.
Despite his natural talent, it wasn’t until 1962 that he decided to quit his day job and become a full-time comedian. Within a few years, he was touring with the likes of Cliff Richard, Tom Jones and The Everly Brothers after being spotted by entertainment impresario Lew Grade. His debut appearance at the 1971 Royal Variety Show made him a national name and some of his routines – including the broken microphone and his strutting chicken – became legendary.
Often dubbed ‘the comedian’s comedian’, Norman never used bad language or poked fun at an audience member. Instead, his act was a simple mix of funny stories and clever, physical comedy. He was also a talented ventriloquist, becoming a regular on the Saturday morning children’’s TV show Tiswas. Former Tiswas gag writer David Mc Keller recalled this largely forgotten part of Norman’s act. “I remember he took me into a restaurant one night in Birmingham on the Friday night before the show and he came in with a ten-foot ventriloquist’s dummy. He put it on the chair next to me and the waiter came along and gave us three menus. The dummy ordered a whole meal then Norman got hold of a popadom, held it under the table and there was a Woof! Woof! Sound. They threw him out because they didn’t allow dogs in the restaurant but he had no dog. He left me sitting there with a ten-foot dummy.”
The pair also visited Gibraltar on holiday, taking a trip to see the Rock’s famous Barbary apes. “Norman goes over and feeds them so their lips start moving and he starts talking to them and venting them talking to him. We were there for an hour and a half. There was this couple from Alabama and they left thinking the apes actually talked. Norman stayed there until they were convinced. They would have been telling everyone back in Alabama about the talking apes in Gibraltar.”
Norman toured all over the world but always returned to his family home in Welton, having steadfastly refused to move away from the Hull area during his career. He would rate his appearance in the 1986 Hull New Theatre pantomime with long-time friends Little and Large as one of his favourites because it meant he could go home after the show.
Off stage, he helped raise huge sums for charity as a leading member of the entertainers’ charity The Grand Order of Water Rats and the Variety Club of Britain. Norman died in 2013 having suffered from Parkinson’s Disease for many years. His autobiography, modestly titled Just A Job, had been published four years earlier. Incredibly, despite his long and successful career and his charity work, he was never awarded any kind of national honour during his life.
Even in his home city, the only visible commemoration of him is a portrait in Ed Ulyart’s mural of well-known Hull figures on a gable end wall in Clumber Street. Perhaps it’s time for a campaign to get a statue made to mark Hull’s finest comedian. Where should it go? How about the spot in Perth Street where it all began. The old social club was demolished a while back to make way for a new housing development which abruptly came to an undignified halt a few years ago. The half-built site is currently up for sale. Would a new owner consider a fitting tribute to our Norman standing outside? I hope so.