Barbara Windsor - All of Me: My Extraordinary Life

Copyright 2000 Barbara Windsor

The right of Barbara Windsor to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

First published as an Ebook by HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP in 2012

Every effort has been made to fulfil requirements with regard to reproducing copyright material. The author and publisher will be glad to rectify any omissions at the earliest opportunity.

The original print edition included a photographic and illustrated section, which has been removed from this edition.

eISBN: 978 0 7553 6465 7

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Table of Contents

Born in the East End of London just before the war, Barbara Windsor made her first stage appearance at the age of 13. From her early roles as the original Carry On dolly bird to her hit as Peggy Mitchell in the award-winning BBC drama EastEnders, her spectacular success in theatre, film and TV has made her a British icon the Cockney kid with a dazzling smile and talent to match. Here, for the first time, she talks in depth about the people and events that have shaped her career: her lonely childhood, her doomed marriage to Ronnie Knight, her legendary affairs, how she has never let her fans down whatever her personal anguish. This is the heart-warming story of a courageous woman and consummate performer who has always made sure the show goes on.

Barbara Windsor was born in August 1937 and has been one of Britains most popular actresses for four decades, best known for her Carry On roles and EastEnders.

To Mummy, whose love I now feel is always with me
To Scott, whose love I know is always with me
And to the Great British Public, whose love has always kept me going

To write about a lifetime and a career which spans over fifty years involves much memory-searching. It would be impossible to list everyone who has helped me. They know who they are and how much I appreciate their support. Many of them are part of my life story and are therefore mentioned in the book but in addition there are the theatres, the archivists, the press, the television and other media companies who have provided confirmation of facts concerning my professional life to each and every one I offer a genuine, heartfelt thank you. Finally, special thanks go to everyone at my publishers Headline, who have been wonderfully encouraging and supportive throughout the writing of this book.

I t is 19 July 2000 and here I am, Barbara Ann Deeks, in a chauffeur-driven limousine on my way to Buckingham Palace to collect my MBE from the Queen. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that this day would come. My only wish is that my mother could have been here with me, but Im sure shes watching somewhere. In this extraordinary, topsy-turvy life of mine it seems incredible that I have reached this pinnacle in my career; not only will I be meeting Her Majesty this morning, but in the afternoon I will be representing my country in a parade in honour of the Queen Mothers 100th birthday. It is all so far removed from my childhood in the East End of London and I cant help thinking back to the early days when it all began...

AS A KID, I LONGED TO BE ON THE SUNNY SIDE OF THE STREET; IT SOUNDED A GREAT PLACE, BECAUSE MY DADDY WAS ALWAYS SO HAPPY WHEN HE WAS SINGING ABOUT IT. But I never found my way there until I discovered that performing could chase the gloom away and give me something to smile about.

Our home in north London was filled with tension and I was caught between two parents who didnt love each other. My father, John Deeks, was a good-looking, fair-haired, happy-go-lucky cockney who had come back from the war in 1945 with a smile and a whistle but little ambition. My mother, born Rose Ellis, was petite, with a cute figure and thick, auburn hair. She wanted more than she had and worked hard to try to get it. Daddy was keen to make the best of everything; Mummy was quick to find fault, and nothing ever seemed good enough for her.

Rosie had been smitten by John, her second cousin, before the war. Eighteen months her junior, he was a handsome barrow boy with a jack-the-lad personality and cheeky wit. She had married him in 1935, against the wishes of her family, who felt he wasnt the right man for her. The war hardened Mummy and, in the austere aftermath, I think she realised that she had made a mistake; that she wanted more than good looks, an impish smile and a nice line in patter.

On my own with my dad, I felt warm and safe and wanted, but Mummy was unpredictable, I was never quite sure what to expect. There were times when the three of us got on together, of course there were like when we went to the pictures or a show in the West End but, in the main, it was a case of twos company, threes a crowd. Mummy admitted that when I was born, in the London Hospital, Whitechapel, on 6 August 1937, shed been hoping for a boy, and that she didnt like the fine, fair hair Id inherited from my father. She would spend hours dressing it with bows or making me little hats to compensate for its lack of body.

She named me Barbara Ann Deeks. Before war was declared in 1939, the three of us lived in Shoreditch, but Mummy always thought she was more north London than East End, and when Daddy was called up, she seized the chance to move in with her mum and dad and other relatives in Stoke Newington. It was from there that, as a five-year-old, I waved goodbye to Daddy as he marched off to war and out of our lives for nearly three years. All the time Mummy and me were together in those wartime years, everything was OK: there was no hint of the frustration and anger that would later mar her enjoyment of life and make mine a misery.

With us in that small house in Yoakley Road were Mummys sister Dolly and her husband, Charlie Windsor, and son, Kenny, and Uncle Ronnie, Mummys youngest brother. Auntie Dolly looked after me while Mummy worked as a dressmaker in the West End. She was very strict, but although I was quite a handful I liked that, because I always knew where I was with her.

Although it sounds as if we were packed in like sardines, we were all one big, happy family. As Hitlers Luftwaffe pounded London with wave after wave of attack, many kids were evacuated to East Anglia, the West Country and the north of England, but Mummy resisted sending me away until one of my friends, a little girl called Margaret, was hit by flying shrapnel and killed. Margaret used to sit on a wall waiting for me and Auntie Dolly, who took us to school St Marys Infants round the corner in Lordship Road. One morning we found the wall where Margaret sat reduced to a pile of rubble, and no Margaret. That was enough for my mother: the next thing I knew was leaving Euston for Blackpool with a number pinned to my coat and a warning from Mummy: Remember dont go off with any strange men.

I was not yet six, and so tiny that I was put at the end of the line as we all waited at Blackpool Station to get on a coach. Suddenly a lady grabbed my hand and put me in a car with a man behind the wheel. I thought it was wonderful, a treat, but, as it turned out, I would have been better off on the coach. All the other kids were allocated homes in which two or more of them stayed together, but somehow I slipped through the net and was taken to a house in Norbreck on my own. The couple who lived there told me they were married, but I sensed something was wrong: Mummy had always told me I was a wily, nosy little girl who earwigged grown-ups conversations and heard things I shouldnt. I knew my instinct was right when the couple insisted I undressed in front of them and then, when I went to bed, the man came into my room and tried to touch me. I said: Mummy said I mustnt be left on my own with a man. You must come in with your wife. After that I used to push furniture against the door, and when he tried to get in Id screech and scream and go red in the face like my daddy. Most nights Id cry myself to sleep, I was so frightened and miserable. I was missing Mummy dreadfully and wrote her three letters begging to be allowed to come home. Rather than revealing my fears, I complained that the planes flew too low over Blackpool and that the people all talked funny. She thought I was just trying to get attention.