Ron Moody - A Still Untitled (Not Quite) Autobiography

1940. The second year of World War II.

The boy was about sixteen. He had a wash of spring greens about the gills, boasting a wealth of inexperience and self-doub t. Never done this before, well, only inside his locked bedroom, entirely by himself, facing the wardrobe mirror, singing Cleaning Windows along with George Formby on the Ferguson music centre, followed by Formbys brilliantly punctuated plonks and puddly-dum-dums on the uke. The boy had all that off to a tee, practising finger-rolls every day on his bus ticket in the back seat of the bus on his way to school. Plunk-a-dunk-a-diddly-dunk-a-diddly-diddly-dunka-dunka! Disregarding suspicious stares from passing bus conductor.

Never done it because he never had the nerve, so what was he doing now at a local talent contest in Allison Hall, the old red-brick Victorian Church Hall in Green Lanes, Haringey? Never done it before but something he would never forget, he was painfully, definitely backstage, so somehow he had managed to fiddle himself into the local talent show, probably because all the young men were in the war, only the grizzle-chinned old uns and the bum-fluffed young uns were free to appear! He was pretty good at playing the uke like George, pretty good at screwing up his eyes like George, singing in high-pitched Lancashire like George, very good at the plunk-diddly-plunk-dunk like George, so what was wrong with him being there, ukulele in hand well, banjolele in hand (a banjolele is shaped like a banjo, a ukulele is shaped like a guitar), scrupulously tuned to my dog has fleas(A-D-Fsharp-B), standing in the wings, waiting to go on and stop the show cold like George with When Im Cleaning Windows?

Nothing wrong at all. Except for some reason, he didnt remember anybody else being backstage, it all seemed totally deserted! It was still deserted when the moment arrived! The boy stepped on. Deep, dark silence! He walked to the centre and turned. Hell! He was blinded by spotlights spouting lava, couldnt see a thing in the great cavern of darkness beyond, not even the monsters that certainly lurked there, and bought tickets. Absolutely no sign of any audience! Was he facing the wrong way? Was it all a dream?

He stood there, sixteen years old, a teenage ukulele virtuoso, about to stop the show! It was time to begin! He tried to release his breath but it was lodged in his throat. Thats when he went deaf. Oddly enough, he didnt feel too faint. Because something was telling him again, it was time to begin!

He plunked his opening riff, Plunk diddly plunk plunk, plunk, plunk, plunk! Again! Plunk diddly plunk plunk, plunk, plunk, plunk!

He had the impression that he had begun to sing.

Now I go cleaning windows

To earn an honest bob plunk a plunk!

And then he dried. Stone cold dead in de market! Remembered nothing! Not a word! He stood there looking at the invisible audience for some time, and he imagined they were looking at him, but they made no sound, not even a derisive raspberry to cheer him on. Nothing! Was he dreaming it? Maybe it was their dream? He turned and walked off in complete silence. He didnt remember any more. Maybe they dreamed each other?