I’d survived sword fights & car chases but when Ken hit me I needed a doctor!
MIKE Baldwin was the cheeky chappy who’d seen all the Corrie lasses’ knickers – and not just because he was boss of the underwear factory.
But between punch-ups, pranks and posh dates with Pat Phoenix, life behind the scenes was just as fun for star Johnny Briggs.
The national treasure passed away last week aged 85, after a long illness.
But here in the second day of our exclusive extracts from his book, Johnny reveals in his own words what life was really like on the country’s most famous street.
I STOOD there in stunned silence for a few moments. I had just been asked to do Coronation Street. “I’ve done Crossroads and I don’t want to do another soap,” I told my agent. “It’s a bit different,” she replied. I flicked on the TV and saw my old friend Pat Phoenix. The sight of Pat in all her glory was all I needed. So in September 1976, I headed for Weatherfield on a three-month contract.
At the end of my stint, I was in the bar with producer Bill Podmore when he remarked: “I’m sorry to see you go, Briggsy. It is a shame you can’t do any more.” “Who says I can’t?” I countered. “Your agent said you didn’t like soaps,” Bill replied.
“I’ve had a good time,” I said. “You are a berk,” he laughed. “Why didn’t you say this before? I’ll have you written back in.”
Ratings went through the roof with the Ken Barlow, Deirdre and Baldwin love triangle in the 80s.
People were amazed to see Bill Roache (Barlow) and I together off screen. There’s nothing to dislike about the bloke. He’s a very intelligent, quiet, reasonable, well-mannered guy, not big-headed, genuinely nice. The only time I wanted to smash him for six is on the golf course.
Of course, on screen… I once tore Bill Roache’s lapel with the intensity of my grip. Yet in 1998, it was Barlow sending Baldwin crashing on to cobbles. It hurt – for real. In my career, I was barely scratched, despite sword-fights, car chases, even mad dogs.
But Bill had me heading for the doctors. The crew had put a thin strip of foam on top of the cobbles to cushion my fall. But I caught my elbow and the pain shot right up my arm.
My elbow blew up like a football. Yet I told the doctor a sling was out. Mike Baldwin couldn’t be walking around in a sling. The most annoying thing was it sparked off a twinge of gout! Barlow owed me. The scene where Anne Kirkbride’s Deirdre confesses the affair to Barlow was mesmerising.
Anne expected to deliver lines to me in the house, as rehearsed. But Bill had secretly spoken to the director and grabbed Anne by the throat. It was so intense, Anne thought he’d gone mad!
Anne was always a great sport. One night, we were waiting in a car,
Julie said ‘You’ll never get me into bed but I can be a very good friend’ JOHNNY ON BEING CLOSE TO JULIE GOODYEAR
while filming in Manchester’s Oxford Street, when this fella walked past.
“You don’t want to mess about with him, luv, you would be much better off if you came with me,” he told Anne.
“Where are you going?” she asked. “To this club up the road,” he said. “All right, I will join you,” said Anne, climbing out of the car. Shocked, the man ran off – as Anne ran up the road after him shouting, “Hang on!”
Amanda Barrie – Alma – was a joy. I’d known of her from my Carry On days. We gave each other strength. If she saw panic in my eyes she rallied round, and if I saw her faltering, I rallied round.
In those early days, I needed a minder – to protect me from the girls! I had the most mail, with offers to make your hair curl. Girls would tear my clothes, grab at my hair – anything. The only person I’d go out with was Pat Phoenix (Elsie Tanner), queen of the Street. It was like going around with Princess Di.
We’d go to Manchester’s Millionaire Club and be shepherded to owner Peter Stringfellow’s table. Pat was always trying to mother me. Woe betide anyone who was nasty to her Johnny because they would then have the wrath of Pat to deal with!
I first met her in 1960 when working at Granada studios. She was carrying a tray of tea in the canteen. She was rather plain but Pat became more beautiful with every year that passed.
She did everything in style. One day on set, she said: “Do you fancy a cup of tea?” Then she came bustling back: “Right, the taxi’s here.” The “cup of tea” was in the Midland, then the Manchester hotel. It was an elegant occasion – hot teacakes, dainty smoked salmon and cucumber sandwiches, served by waiters in black tie. It beat the Granada canteen.
Julie Goodyear wasn’t much like Bet Lynch either. The beehive was a wig. Her real hair was quite nice.
My very first scene was with her, but the security guard wouldn’t let me park in the studios. So having found a public car park, I arrived in make-up with five minutes to go, soaked by rain and with sweat beading my forehead. “Well, you’ll never get me into bed,” Julie said. “But I can be a very good friend.” “I can always find someone to make love to,” I smiled, “but good friends are hard to find.”
After that, we had lunch together almost every day. She was protective – too protective, as I later found out.
At first, I was still fancy-free but getting close to Christine, who in 1977 would become my second wife. Julie liked her, telling me: “Christine’s the girl you should marry.”
So when girls came milling around, Julie saw them off with the same iron will she employed as landlady of the Rovers. “You don’t want to talk to her darling, split ends,” she’d whisper.
Sometimes she’d wait for the girl to go to the toilet, follow her and say something. I wondered why all girls did a runner! I got my own back. There was a stray cat in the studios and Geoffrey Hughes, who played Annie Walker’s son, would put fake cat poos around the set as a joke. I pointed to one, and Julie said: “Oh, I’m so bloody sick of it.” She picked it up – and it was a real!
“Studio in 10 seconds,” boomed the Tannoy. “I warned you,” I said, grinning. She had to do the scene with cat’s mess under her fingernails.
Not every partnership was good. Walking down the aisle with Ken Barlow’s daughter, Susan, was my worst moment on The Street. Wendy Jane Walker (Susan) acted like a star and wouldn’t listen to any criticism.
I plotted ways to make her life as miserable as she was making mine. I’d eat meals laced with garlic the night before a passionate scene.
Some fans didn’t like me either. Mike had just sacked Hilda Ogden when I was in Sainsbury’s. A woman hit me with an umbrella, screaming: “You are a mean pig. Give her back her job!” She chased me to the car park, wielding her brolly. Some people would send in CVs, asking if there was an opening in the factory.
I was lucky to get Coronation Street. I don’t know who my guardian angel is, but if I meet him, I’ll break open the Dom Perignon.