Open Writing

Backwords by Mike Shaw - A night at the music hall was about as near as I could get to heaven when I was a lad.

And that wasn't just because I was perched high up in the circle at the Palace in Huddersfield.

I became an instant fan of variety entertainment from the very first time my parents took me to the Palace nearly 50 years ago.

I liked every one of the acts, loved a few and was positively rapturous about one performer in particular.

It may have been his entrance that appealed to my sense of adventure.

Or then again it could have been his devil-may-care manner as he sauntered casually around the stage.

I suppose it might even have been his pure tenor voice.

A combination of all three seems an even more logical explanation.

Whatever it was about him, Cavan O'Connor was top of my bill every time.

G H Elliott was my mother's favourite with his blacked-up face, top hat and tails, and an inimitable version of The Lily of Laguna that he sang on so many "farewell tours'' I thought he'd never take his leave.

Charlie Kunz was my father's idol as he tickled the ivories with nonchalant skill in a medley of tunes that kept dad's foot rhythmically tapping.

Frank Randle made my brother howl with laughter when he did his old-soldier act, waving a wicked-looking sword at a family party and roaring "I'll chop all your... heads off.''

But for me none of them was in the same league as that man Cavan O'Connor.

I clapped him when he strolled on from the wings in an open-necked shirt and his jacket tossed casually over his shoulder.

I clapped him when he sang I'll Take You Home Again Kathleen.

But I clapped him most of all when the final curtain came down as he walked off stage singing his biggest hit.

"I'm only a strolling vagabond, so goodnight pretty maiden, goodnight'' went the words that I've never forgotten.

A truly great artist.

At the age of 88 he released a double album featuring all the old favourites.

And I still play it.