Depending onwhich page of the internet you believe, Jimmy James, comedian, was born ineither Stockton-on-Tees or South Bank in Middlesbrough. What is agreed upon isthat he was born in 1892 and died in 1965. Since then, he can be found in SectionI19A of Oxbridge Lane Cemetery, Oxbridge, Stockton-on-Tees.
Go throughthe gates at the Grangefield Road entrance, turn left and you’ll see him by theback wall. He is easy enough to find but if you get lost, like I did, thehelpful groundsman will direct you to the correct plot.
By the wall,out of the way, it’s not a bad place to sleep the big sleep. Like all goodcomedians Jimmy James remains on the periphery, quietly observing his fellow residents.They are a little stony faced but they’re probably no worse than a quiet Mondaynight in Glasgow.
Hisheadstone reads ‘Remembered by All’ but the fifty-odd years since his deathhave shown these words to be incorrect. Jimmy James will be mis-remembered bysome as the lead singer with the Vagabonds, a musical group from the 1960swhich, for all I know, could still be going strong.
If he isremembered at all, it will be for playing a comic drunk. There’s a very funnyclip online, dating all the way back to 1936, in which he and a policeman sharea bottle of whisky to commemorate their departed army comrades.
He alsoperformed the box sketch which should be as well-known as the dead parrot, thefour candles or Eric Morecambe playing all the right notes but not necessarilyin the right order. It should be as well-known but it isn’t.
There aretwo or three versions of it on YouTube. The earliest one appears to have beentaken from a broadcast by Tyne Tees (it may even be from the station’s openingnight of January 15, 1959). The picture is a little hazy but, as it dates froma time when most people smoked, the haziness is as much a result of cigarettesmog as primitive filming techniques.
If you fancya wander to Nyasaland and India, stopping off at youth clubs to pick up lodgersand sets of spoons along the way, this is the sketch for you. It only lasts forfive minutes or so but, in that time, you can lose yourself in a world wherenothing makes sense and the only things that matter are three men, some greatcomic timing, throwaway lines and total absurdity.
‘Is it you that’s putting it around that I’m barmy?’ asks a strange man in along coat. It is an unconventional opening gambit. A box is tucked neatly underhis arm. If you were to open the box, what would you find? Take your pick. Itcould contain two man-eating lions, the odd giraffe or, possibly, nothing atall. As the piece progresses the viewer can see that the man with the box doesn’tneed anyone to put the word around that he’s barmy because he can do a verygood job of it on his own.
He’s gottough competition in the barmy stakes from Eli Woods (in reality, Jack Casey,nephew of Jimmy James). A study in beige, wearing an ill-fitting jacket toppedoff by what looks like a deerstalker hat, Eli is one of those fey comiccreations who’s destined to lag a few bars behind the great drum roll of life. Hisstammer and, to most ears, unfamiliar Teesside accent mark his card as anoutsider.
But that’s OK. As the opening theme of a once-popular sitcom proclaimed, theworld don’t move to the beat of just one drum. What might be right for you maynot be right for some. It takes diff’rent strokes to move the world, yes itdoes.
Sometimesthe personnel changes – in one version the man with the box is played byYorkshireman Mike Craig, in another by fellow Tyke Roy Castle. Mr Craig is anunsung, unremembered name but I’m singing his praises now because he deservesto be remembered as much as Roy Castle.
As a usefulway of filling in the hours and hours of air time that rolling TV demands,satellite channels run regular, portentous countdowns of the funniest televisualevents to have taken place over the last thousand years. You know the ones,they’re always won by Del Trotter managing to stay a few laughs ahead of thefield as he falls through the bar after telling Trigger to play it nice andcool son, nice and cool, you know what I mean?
Well, come out with your hands up, Del-Boy, because there’s a new sheriff intown. It’s Eli Woods and he’s armed with the words ‘The coffee, I mean’. Humouris subjective and Eli’s utterance means nothing on the page but if yourshoulders aren’t shaking with mirth when watching him say this then you’reprobably better off sticking with Del-Boy.
Eli died in2014 at the grand old age of 91. He was a life-long resident of Stockton-on-Teesand, sometime in the late 1990s, I was given his address by a work colleaguewho lived near him. I wrote to Eli to ask if he would be willing to attend anevening in which he could tell us tales of his days in the music halls(‘transport and refreshments will, of course, be provided’). He may have had areputation because my colleague warned me that he would be unlikely to reply.She was right, he didn’t.
In a way,I’m glad he didn’t answer because I like to think of him as a reclusive oldman, haughtily consigning to the bin unsolicited letters from well-meaningstrangers.
Eli is a memorable presence but it is Jimmy James who holds the skit together, orchestratingthe rhythm with puffs on his cigarette in such a way as to make Andre Previn shakehis head in astonishment. He reminds meof fellow-Teessider Will Hay in his mastery of his two sidekicks. Seedier thanold Harbottle, dimmer than young Albert, Hay exerts authority only by beingmore cunning than either. So it appears with Jimmy James but, as the vignetteprogresses, the viewer comes to realise that he is no saner than the rest ofus. We’re all in the same boat, aren’t we?
I first saw thisturn in the early 1980s on an edition of Michael Parkinson’s Saturday night chatshow. Due to circ*mstances beyond his control, Jimmy James had been replaced byhis son, James Casey. It was a time when many of the old music hall comedianslike Sandy Powell, Tommy Trinder and Richard Murdoch were still alive and someoneat the BBC wisely thought to capture them for posterity before they went to thegreat music hall in the sky. The result was the Old Boy Network, a show thatwas broadcast by the BBC at a time when most sensible viewers would have beenin bed.
Good oldParky deserves credit for doing his own bit of old boy networking and providinga stage for a reboot of the old routine. The man with the box is played by RoyCastle but there’s still, always, Eli Woods. They even throw in a memorableversion of the song Kisses Sweeter than Wine. I would love to hear Who’s Got MyDing Dong, a song championed eagerly by the man with the box in an earlierversion but, after making extensive enquiries, I have had to conclude that the dittyis as fantastical as the lions in the box.
Sharing thebill on Parky that night were Celeste Holm and Billy Eckstine and I wonder whatthese seasoned entertainers made of Eli Woods and his mates.
I wouldimagine Jimmy James to have been a shrewd entertainer, wary of the dubiousblessings of television. Eager for new content, the box in the corner wouldhave swallowed up his two famous routines and asked him if this was all hehad. But television has given himimmortality, fixed him within its four walls so that a five-minute distractionplays without end.
Whimsical comedy and Teesside seem a strange pairing. If they were girlfriendand boyfriend, tongues would be wagging to the tune of ‘What’s she doing going around with the likes ofhim?’ It is a pragmatic part of theworld, where a joke is as likely to be settled with a punch as a punchline.
Life’s hard,but you’d better get on with it because life’s even harder if you spend itcrying. And besides, who wants to be a moaning Minnie?
Humour has as much right to be conjured up from a chemical reaction on Teessideas it does from the salty air of Liverpool or the smoke of London. And the boxis in safe hands. Bob Mortimer, Vic Reeves and Vaun Earl Norman having a gowith their own interpretation of the sketch would be a big night out worthattending.
There is norhyme or reason to Jimmy James and company so I think they should be slippedinto the schedules in similar fashion. Every now and then, the box sketchshould boldly stride onto our screens unannounced as a sort of updated versionof the interlude. If a rotating potter’s wheel or a revolving windmill couldhold the viewing public enthralled, then three crazed northerners going aroundand around in circles is worth five minutes of anyone’s time.
Until somebrave TV scheduler has the imagination to do this you can always go online,type ‘jimmy james eli woods’ into your favourite search engine and escape fromthe serious stuff for five minutes or so. There’s no excuse not to. The boxsketch should be viewed by all, laughed at by all and remembered by all. It isfunny indeed.
Published on December 9th, 2019. Written by Andrew Cobby for Television Heaven.
