When I got my first gig directing TV Pat Phoenix was the biggest star there was, outshining any Hollywood name — at least, in the north of England, and for those who had left their skiffle days behind. More than fifteen years later she would be proclaimed an icon by another generation when she was chosen as the cover girl for a record by The Smiths. And more recently, Lorraine Kelly has said, “She was Rita Hayworth, Ava Gardener, and Joan Crawford all rolled into one.” (17)

Of course, back then, I knew the name and face — especially the hair-do — but I don’t think that I had ever watched her for more than a few minutes on screen. My inspiration had been the Nouvelle Vague, the Underground, and everything way-out; the ups and downs of Elsie Tanner’s love life had quite passed me by. That was, of course, the character incarnated by Pat in the soap opera that had already run for more than a decade — Coronation Street, known by then, simply as The Street. This show without end was the wall of fire that Granada TV had decreed every drama trainee had to pass through before being declared a fully fledged director. There were dark rumours that a previous trainee had been driven to suicide but I never discovered the truth of that.

On my first day solo the producer of the time, Harry Kershaw, walked me to the rehearsal room and casually mentioned on the way that discipline had become very slack of late and I should start by getting them all together and giving them a dressing down with regard to time- keeping. After brief introductions Harry escaped back to his office leaving me to face the army of famous faces before me. There was Violet Carson (Ena Sharples), Margot Bryant (her side-kick, Minnie Caldwell), Doris Speed (Annie Walker}. Peter Adamson (Len Fairclough), Jack Howarth (Albert Tatlock), Jean Alexander (Hilda Ogden), Sandra Gough (her daughter, Irma), Julie Goodyear (Bet Lynch) and, of course, Bill Roache (Ken Barlow), among others. Conspicuous by her absence was Pat; she should have been there, but, had not yet arrived.

Perhaps, the cast all sensed my nervousness and felt sorry for me, for they responded to my pep-talk better than I’d dared hope with mutterings of agreement and support. After a few minutes my embarrassment was put to an end by a call from the press office to inform me that Pat had been delayed by hoards of fans in Kendal Milne department store but was on her way. I decided to make a start without her, and called the cast for a scene in The Rovers Return. Hardly had I started blocking the scene, before Margot Bryant drew herself up to her full diminutive height and with a great huff of indignation stormed out. What had I done? Some minutes later the producer’s secretary crept in and whispered in my ear that I had put Margot in the wrong seat. She had been sitting in the same seat since episode two and was fed up with young directors turning up without having done their homework.Violet Carson gave me her most withering Ena Sharples look and a knowing shake of the jowls.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I tried to press on but, moments later, the double doors burst open and in came Pat, followed by a girl from the Press Office, arms piled high with all the star’s purchases. She stopped dead as she saw Alan Browning — her beau of the moment, both in the series (as Alan Howard) and in real life — on the other side of the room. And then, with a sudden stream of lover’s invective, snatched up one parcel after another and flung them at him full force. When she had run out of missiles, I quickly stepped in, and, as the press girl scrambled to retrieve the parcels, attempted to call the raucous assembly to order. I reminded Pat that she was already late, and so had missed my pep-talk on time- keeping, but now we really should press on. She looked at me for the first time, shrugged off her coat, smacked her hands together, and, as if nothing had happened, said, “Right Chuck, where do you want me?”

I’d heard rumours it had been predicted that I would be torn apart by The Street cast — like a puppy dog thrown into a cage of big cats — so my P.A. informed me. That did not happen, I believe, because they sensed my sincerity of purpose. Certainly, I gave the cast my full attention and by and large they responded well to that. I soon discovered that those with greater technical command welcomed direction that gave them a fresh way of looking at things, while those who had ossified in their parts were often fearful of it because they did not know how to respond. Pat was certainly of the former group, and, to my surprise, we got on very well. I soon realised that she was very savvy and always seem to know where I was coming from; and, in a funny way, I felt that I knew where she was coming from too.

Not long into my run a script came up which, knowing the writer, I felt had been quite mischievously concocted by him. It called for Elsie Tanner to be woken up in the middle of the night, to be given news of a traumatic accident, and for her to rush straight out and across town in a state of emotional shock and turmoil. I saw trouble ahead and went to talk to the producer about it. He advised that I should have a private chat with Pat and work something out with her ahead of time. After recording one day, I went to speak to her in her dressing room. I described the situation and pointed out that it just would not be right for her to appear with her usual heavy makeup and bouffant hair, nor could she wear her tight- waisted costumes and high-heeled shoes. She gave me a long sideways glance and then said, “Eee ... you’re right, Chuck, you’re right.” I left feeling confused and very uncertain as to what the final outcome would be.

All through rehearsal Pat made no objection to any of my blocking or the directions I gave her, but quietly took it all in. It was too good to be true. She, herself, suggested that she would just grab a coat hanging by the door and rush out in her slippers. When it came to the recording she pushed the makeup girl away and mussed up her hair with her own fingers. The key scenes were played with just a trench coat thrown on over a winceyette nightdress and flat-bottomed slippers. By any standards it was a great performance and some of the other cast were quite taken aback by it. Immediately afterwards I went to her dressing room to thank her. For a moment her eyes flickered in appreciation before batting me away with, “Ey, get off with you, I was doing turns like that when I was your age.” Pat had set out to show me a thing or two, and so she had. She knew just what I was looking for, and this show had been her little gift to me. But I also got the sense that I was not to expect any more performances like that.

Pat liked to talk of herself as a “working actress” and always said that she knew “nowt about being a star”, but this was ingenuous. Pat was well aware that she could act with the best of them when she wanted to; but that kind of immersive performance no longer interested her. What did interest her was connecting with the audience as her own person.Some time later she entered into a bitter wrangle with Granada over pay.: she was the star of their highest rating show and she wanted to be paid accordingly. They decided to call her bluff expecting her to back down, but, instead, she left and went on a grand theatre tour. I got a ticket for one show and slipped into the back stalls to watch her. It was a performance designed to draw gasps and cheers and applause from the audience. At the end she stepped out in front of the curtain and spoke directly to them; she knew it was her they had come to see regardless of the character she chose to portray..