Farewell to a Scots comedy legend
After six extraordinary decades in showbiz – Johnny’s Beattie final act was to set his obituary writers a curtain call conundrum.
After all - here was a man whose career just couldn’t be categorised.
The tribute writers – probably not even born when Johnny was in his 1960s and 70s pomp – would be wondering whether to call him “comedian,” “actor,” “entertainer,” “variety artist,” “soap star” or even just “performer.” The Johnny Beattie I knew was all of the above . . . and an awful lot more.
You could have stuck him in makeup, the sound stage, the prompt box or the ticket office – and Johnny wouldn’t have let you down.
And over a lager in the bar afterwards – he’d have told you about his days at Fairfield’s ship yard . . or his nights on national service in Singapore!
I reckon I first heard the name “Johnny Beattie” when I had just left nappies and been promoted to short trousers. There was a daft children’s rhyme at the time that had probably been corrupted from another famous “Beattie.”
It went - “Dial 999, dial 999, Johnny Beattie stole a sweetie – dial 999!”
Fast forward to 2002 – by which time I was well into long trousers! – and invited to Johnny’s flat in Glasgow’s West End for an interview to celebrate his 50 years in showbiz.
Johnny lived just around the corner from Tennents Bar in Byres Road – and over a pre-interview Guinness, I decided I must ask him if he’d ever heard the same, silly rhyme. Two hours, five mugs of a tea and a filled notebook later
– I bade Johnny farewell without a single mention of his alleged theft of confectionery!
Last weekend, on the sad news of his passing, I checked my cuttings file to remind me just what we talked about for those two hours. Well, there’s not a lot we didn’t talk about.
But it was shortly after Johnny would have celebrated his golden wedding anniversary.
Although he and wife Kitty Lamont - a model once dubbed as “the most beautiful woman in Scotland” - had separated, they remained great friends. There had been talk of getting back together . . . but in 1982, cancer cruelly ended his hopes of a re-union. Swaying gently on a rocking chair, Johnny told me how he had spent his “Golden Wedding” day revisiting the landmarks of his lost love. “I went to Partickhill Road, her home when we first courted, and stood outside the glass-panelled door where I kissed her goodnight” he told me. “I walked to the church where we married – and then to all the houses we ever lived in together. We were a West End couple – and didn’t move far!” he added. “You must miss her?” I asked. “No . . . she’s never really left me . .” he added, as his eyes moistened.
I remember thinking “Where’s this interview going?” “I’m here to talk to a Scottish comedy legend . . . now he’s in tears . . . and I’m not far behind!”
But it’s not in Johnny’s character to be too serious . . . for too long. And soon he had me laughing about his days in the shipyards – and some hilarious moments with the legends of Scottish entertainment who were his peers. Pride of place in his flat was a photo taken at a Scottish Royal Command Performance with Johnny at the centre of a cast that included Rikki Fulton, Jack Milroy, Stanley Baxter, Kenneth McKellar, Lex McLean, Andy Stewart, Moira Anderson and Jimmy Shand. “Not a bad line up!” he grinned. Johnny Beattie was the first . . . and last . . . of that unique generation.
Old enough to enjoy theatre work in its heyday – and young enough to get involved in the earliest entertainment productions in fledgling Scottish television.
His love of the theatre was intense – and his love of Ayr’s Gaiety Theatre was passionate.
MP Allan Dorans was moved to submit an Early Day Motion in Parliament this week which included, “He will be remembered with great fondness not only as one of the great Scottish variety performers and actors but for his unwavering support and campaigning when the Ayr Gaiety Theatre was threatened with closure.
“He will always be known as ‘Mr Gaiety’ by Ayrshire folk”.
Well said, Allan. There has been a lot of talk recently about who deserves – or doesn’t deserve– a statue raised in their honour.
Well . . . I don’t even care how many sweeties he’s supposed to have stolen!
Let’s make a lasting tribute to Johnny Beattie.
He’s earned it.
His love of the theatre was intense and his love of Ayr’s Gaiety Theatre was passionate