The TV of Christmas Past
Eric and Ernie were as much a part of Christmas as mince pies and crackers. Amanda Hodges tells their story.
The comic genius of Morecambe and Wise
THE image of Morecambe and Wise performing their end-of-show dance springs to mind instantly on hearing these words. Their Christmas shows reached a peak in 1977, with 28 million people tuning in. Even the Royal Family allegedly used to delay their festive dinner until they’d seen Eric and Ernie.
Eric Morecambe with his wonky glasses, endearing manner and natural effervescence has always achieved great acclaim, but Ernie Wise has often been overlooked for his role within the partnership. In Ernie’s obituary in The Guardian in 1999, Stephen Dixon commented that, despite the popular assumption that Ernie was second string to Eric, “Ernie was much more than Eric’s straight man. He was a wonderful comedian in his own right.”
It’s 20 years since Ernie’s passing, but interest in Morecambe and Wise remains unabated. In 2013 a blue plaque at Teddington Studios commemorated the fact that they filmed their last four series here, whilst a 2011 TV biopic charted their early career. Two years ago the drama Eric, Ernie and Me vividly chronicled their years with writer Eddie Braben.
Ernie liked to joke about being a song and dance man, and this he was. Born Ernest Wiseman in November 1925, he accompanied his father, a railwayman and semi-professional singer, to working men’s clubs as part of Bert Carson and his Little Wonder.
As a boy, Ernie’s charm and musical talent won plaudits, and by 1938 he came to the attention of impresario Jack Hylton, achieving fame virtually overnight. Left to fend for himself in London aged just thirteen, the affable
Ernie developed a resilient core that stood him in good stead when negotiating business contracts for Morecambe and Wise.
He was once billed as the British answer to Mickey Rooney, and soon appeared in children’s talent shows like Youth Takes a Bow – where he met Eric Bartholomew in 1940. The two became friends, their idea of a comedic partnership fusing when, unable to find digs in Oxford whilst on tour, Ernie stumbled upon the lodgings of Eric and his mother, was taken in by them, and the pair become inseparable.
They concocted a double act. Initially billed as Bartholomew and Wise, everyone agreed the name didn’t work, so Eric adopted the name Morecambe to reflect the place of his birth. WWII separated them when Ernie served in the Navy and Eric was a Bevan Boy. Reunited by chance, they remained a partnership until Eric’s death in 1984.
“Bring me sunshine, in your smile; Bring me laughter, all the while.
They started a long apprenticeship on the variety circuit, during which they honed their act, which was influenced by Abbott and Costello. Radio beckoned by the 1950s, with appearances on a northern station segueing into a BBC revue spot, then the glory of their own show, You’re Only Young Once. They were then offered a TV debut on the BBC called
Running Wild. The experience nearly demolished their careers.
A review gave a damning indictment, saying, “Definition of the week: TV set – the box in which they buried Morecambe and Wise.”
Running Wild failed because it had thin material, and it dented their confidence. When they had more experience they felt confident enough to try again at ATV in 1961, where they stayed, with greater success, until moving to the BBC in 1968.
They dabbled in films, too. Joan Morecambe, Eric’s widow, says, “Eric and Ernie were brought up on films and when they got a chance they jumped at it. Ernie particularly had this Hollywood dream.” His autobiography called Still On My Way to Hollywood emphasises this.
It was at the BBC that Morecambe and Wise embarked on the finest years of their careers. First with writers Hills and Green, and latterly Eddie Braben, they changed from being good comedians into comedy icons. Braben significantly altered Ernie’s role.
“What was missing was the genuine affection that they had for one another, which we never saw on television. I wanted to bring that out. I told them Ernie was too hard and Eric was far too silly. So I made the change and Ernie became a pompous, egotistical author.”
In Ernie’s obituary, Stephen Dixon wrote: “Ernie refined this stance and created a brilliantly funny, unique persona for Eric to bounce off: vain, snobbish, puritanical, magnificently smug and given to delusions of artistic grandeur – and almost all the humour came from Eric debunking Ernie’s pretensions.” He would do the same if Ernie received applause for something: Eric would say, “I see your fan is in.”
A succession of stars queued up to participate in one of Ernie’s mangled plays. Glenda Jackson’s turn as Cleopatra yielded the classic lines: “All men are fools. And what makes them so is having beauty like what I have got.” Her performance on the 1971 Christmas show led to her role in the comedy film A Touch of Class, which netted her an Oscar. And poor Des O’Connor (a friend of the pair) was the butt of many jokes over the years, such as when Ernie says: “I’ve got some great news” and Eric replies, “What? Has Des O’Connor got a sore throat?”
Braben waxed lyrical about Ernie’s capabilities: “I don’t think we realise how important Ernie was. Eric didn’t like performing on his own. Ernie was the perfect partner; Eric could trust him to provide well-timed feeds as well as his own gags.”
Eric’s beloved line, “Tea, Ern?” became a staple of their shows. Braben said, “We did it almost every week and every week it got a big laugh.”
These were golden years which offered a plethora of classic sketches: when the boys make a highly diverting breakfast accompanied by music from The Stripper; Singing in the Rain, where Eric’s policeman is deluged with water whilst Ernie returns to his song-and-dance roots; and, of course, the classic Andre Previn sketch.
Previn only learned his part the morning of the run-through, but his comedic timing was perfect. After a prolonged build-up in which Eric manages to fluff every moment, he is accused by Previn of not playing Grieg’s Piano Concerto. Eric huffily replies: “I’m playing all the right notes, but not necessarily in the right order!”
As a character, Ernie was more laid-back, but both worked supremely hard, the punishing regime possibly contributing to Eric’s first heart attack in 1968. Eric worried, while Ernie remained philosophical. He appreciated success but knew that showbusiness had a fickle heart. Twenty years before their beloved Christmas specials, they’d not been half so feted. “We had been two second-spot comics in the Glasgow Empire on a Monday night. We went through our routine in total silence, died a ritual and public death and came off to the sound of our own footsteps. ‘They’re beginning to like you,’ said the fireman as we filed past him, shaking, into the wings.”
When Eric passed away in 1984, Ernie was left bereft, but gamely continued to perform, becoming a stalwart of British comedy, appearing in West End plays and as a TV panellist. He also made the first public mobile phone call in January 1985 from St Katharine’s Docks to Vodafone’s headquarters in Berkshire.
Ernie died in March 1999, but the legacy he and Eric left is one of incontrovertible comic genius. As Joan Morecambe says today of the pair: “People seem to never tire of the shows and the humour. There are no new shows and yet people still love them; it’s remarkable.”