Welsh performer brought the joy of the stage to the WWI front line
FOOTLIGHTS, costumes, dropscenes, illuminations, and a full orchestra, with a conductor in evening dress.
“Can you picture it, dream it, conjure the thought of it?”
So begins one corporal’s written account of a concert party in the Army Service Corps.
Published in the Daily Mail during World War One, at first glance the article could be a West End review.
It describes a captivated audience 1,500-strong, gathered to listen to performances by 30 mouth organs, as well as comedians and impersonators between outbursts of song.
The performance, however, is only miles away from the front line in France.
The colonel writes: “Oh! Ye unhappy men of England who do not know what it means to men who have seen neither lights nor heard music for eternal ages to find a fully-equipped music-hall in sound of the guns.
“There was nothing wanting, no hitch, nothing, ‘left to the imagination.’
“Performances not one-half as good nightly pass muster in our London music-halls.”
A product of months of hard work, divisional concert parties became an essential part of maintaining morale at a time when soldiers needed it most.
Known for their cheery singalongs and poignant reminders of home, in some camps the shows became a statutory requirement.
For others it was simply an opportunity to come together to transform barns, theatres or old town halls into one night’s temporary reprieve.
Despite many troupes being run by ex-professionals, assembling a cast would be a constant problem.
While musicians and singers were never hard to find, many would find themselves constantly moved, or else join the ever-growing casualty list.
Larry Collins, of Military History Monthly, writes: “The staple diet of all concerts was the songs, especially those in which the troops had the opportunity to join in the chorus. The soldiers needed to laugh and sing as a release from the tensions of trench life and the stench of death.
“There were times, however, when the collective rendering of a song could evoke an emotional poignancy that was deeply moving.
“The sentiments and the atmosphere could make even the most war-hardened nurse’s throat constrict.”
Of all the performances across the front line, however, one troupe gained a reputation like no other – that led by Welshman Frank Fox.
Born in Leeds before moving to Cardiff,
Frank grew up no stranger to life on the stage.
His father before him had worked on
In a concert hall in France thousands of men and women gather. The air holds the smell of oranges as nurses and soldiers alike enjoy the temporary distractions of the theatre. Such was the work of Frank Fox, a Cardiff performer determined to bring the joy of the stage to the front line, as Anna Lewis reports
the set for Harry Tate, the biggest music hall comedian of the time. Keen to establish a career in the arts, Frank himself soon worked his way up before joining Tate on the stage as an aide during the star’s famous sketches.
From his classic “motoring” sketches to impressions of fellow comedians Dan Leno and George Robey, by this time the star’s performances had gained a legendary reputation.
It was during this time that Frank learned many of Tate’s signatures which would become so popular on the fields of France – even if not with the comedian himself.
In April 1914, in the months leading to the war, the Welshman volunteered to enlist. By this time he was living in Cardiff after following his father’s footsteps behind the scenes in the Cardiff Empire.
He was signed to become a driver for the Army Service Corps, transporting men and equipment to the front line. Not one to leave his talent for the stage behind, however, this was not the end of Frank’s theatrical career.
A review from the time says: “The production represented three months’ work of the Motor Transport, the men who drive the cars with ‘supplies,’ the hardest most energetic and most practical men in France.
“There must have been quite fifteen hundred officers and men in the place, while there was a pleasant murmur of expectation and a faint scent of oranges in their midst.
“The items included four comedians and popular songs and imitations of well-known ‘stars’ in the music-halls at home, and never did the stars themselves draw such enthusiastic support.
“The house simply rose at them and would have encored every turn a dozen times at least.”
Now, 100 years later, indication of the work behind Frank’s performances can be found in family memorabilia preserved from the time. One programme, dated from May 8 but with no year or location, reveals Frank’s role as not only stage manager and scenery painter, but also the star of two sketches.
Other pictures show him and the troupe in mid-performance, complete with white clown outfits and a distinctive Harry Tate moustache.
“Each driver was under control of a general and the general would give permission for the concert,” said Frank’s son, Fred.
“They were able to make them semi-professional.”
The 84-year-old from Whitchurch added: “In one motoring sketch there’s a conversation exploring what’s wrong with my father’s car.
“The car has broken down and my father learnt in German a description of what was wrong with it. That received a huge round of applause.”
While his performance continued to receive the support of the troops, however, not all responses were positive.
“Apparently when Harry Tate found out my father was repeating his sketches he told him to stop it,” Fred said. “This was only from word of mouth, however, I don’t know if he did stop.”
As well as his work on the shows, Frank also had his fill of drama off the stage. Fred explained: “On one occasion his job was taken over by another driver. My father’s vehicle was struck and the driver was killed.”
Luckily, the performer made it to the end of the war unscathed, returning to Cardiff after the end of the conflict. His legacy can be found both in his years of work at William D’arc waxworks and his annual Christmas performances at Howell’s Christmas bazaar.