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Frankie Vaughan’s legacy inspires play
DON’T think for a moment that Sixties’ crooner Frankie Vaughan has all the modern-day relevance of Ena Sharples’ hair nets, patronising songs such as Hey Little Girls and twin tub washing machines.
Writer Kim Millar has looked back at the life of the Liverpool star, who enjoyed stints in the hit parade with the likes of Give Me the Moonlight and discovered that a key part of the late Vaughan’s legacy is especially apposite to present day.
“When I was asked to write this play about Frankie for Oran Mor the first thing that struck me was his connection to Glasgow,” says the playwright and TV writer.
“Back in 1968, Frankie launched an initiative to tackle the city’s gangland violence, particularly in Easterhouse.
“It was a time when young people found themselves living in these new council estates with no facilities, no entertainment and a deep sense of abandonment.
“I thought this could be really interesting to look at because gangland violence hasn’t gone away. Back in 2005, the Scottish government set up the Violence Reduction Unit, and today young men are still out there hurting each other in unimaginable ways.”
But how do you relate this epicscaled Glasgow gang culture story on a tiny stage with a cast of three?
Millar’s play is set in the Barowlands dressing room after a 1968 show in which the crooner loses his voice.
Vaughan (Andy Clarke) meets 17 -year-old Walter, (Kyle Gardiner) who has landed work as a cleaner at the legendary venue thanks to his mum Ann, (Karen Dunbar).
The singer walks into his dressing room to find Walter wearing his straw boater and singing into the mirror.
A conversation develops. A relationship forms. Walter talks of having been exiled from his old life in the Gorbals to this new gang-ridden urban wasteland. Walter also admits he’s caught up in gang wars. But
Walter has no idea – at first – that this handsome, enigmatic pop star, who had once starred alongside Marilyn Monroe in 1960 Hollywood film Let’s Make Love, was brought up dirt poor in Liverpool by his grandmother.
“Frankie explains that he too was marginalised being Jewish, made to feel different and so joined a gang for security,” says Millar.
“But he was rescued from the gang wars when he was pushed into joining a boys’ club and taking up boxing.”
Millar’s research offered up more opportunity to establish the singer’s connection with
Glasgow. It’s Ann, the cleaner, who comes to the aid of the sore-throated star with a hot toddy.
And it’s she who finds him a piece of sheet music which later provides his greatest pop hit.
“What she also does is reveal her concern for her son, for his future, for his life, which prompts Frankie into raising money for Easterhouse. And in the process reduce the violence.”
Millar adds, in soft voice; “It’s a story that any mother of a teenage son will connect with. As a concerned mother of a 15-year-old, it certainly struck a chord with me.”