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Oscar Drewe Harris:
Lover, Poet and More


Alan Payne
 
Poetry book courtesy Margaret Wakefield
April 2018
 
We have published several articles about Maisie Gay, the musical hall actress who became the landlady at the Northey Arms in the 1930s, but virtually nothing about her partner, Oscar Drewe Harris.  
 
He was born on 15  March 1884 and his autobiography Unsettled in Places (written in 1937 during his time at Box) told of his fifty years travel throughout the world, journalism, stage managing, soldiering, and hotel and pub managing.

Right: Cover of the book
Picture
The Quaker Girl
In 1910 he was performing in the cast of an Edwardian musical comedy, The Quaker Girl, at the Adelphi Theatre, London.[1]
The musical contrasted strict Quaker abstinence with Parisian society and was an amazing success.  His was only a small role and his ability was in staging productions rather than acting. He was so taken with the play that he took it to New York and toured the USA with it, producing the play more times than anybody else.[2]
 
In later life he was the manager of the Prince of Wales' Theatre, London, where he produced all the reviews of Andre Charlot, the Andrew Lloyd Webber of the inter-war period. The shows introduced many famous names, Beatrice Lillie, Gertrude Lawrence and Jessie Matthews, and Noel Coward wrote several songs for the shows.
Picture
Cast of The Quaker Girl, 1911 (courtesy Wikipedia)
Adventurous Life
His career was varied to say the least. He travelled twice to Australia by boat, seven times to North America where he edited a New York newspaper and to East Africa.[3] At the outbreak of the First World War, he enlisted as a soldier in the West Indies Regiment, Jamaica. And he later found time to be a cocoa planter in Brazil travelling around by mule.
 
As landlord of the Northey Arms between 1932 and 1935 he entertained his customers with stories of his adventures. He also offered to raise the curtain on inclusive extras for those staying at the hotel, with free bath, early morning tea and after dinner coffee.[4]
 
Relationship with Maisie Gay
For many years he was officially the stage manager of Maisie Gay and unofficially her partner. They were reported to have married as early as 1923[5] but this was incorrect and, shortly before her death, Maisie's real name was given as Mrs Daisy Maud Wells, her actual married name. In her later years Maisie was bed-ridden in her home at Whirligig, Kingsdown and during this time Odee wrote some fine poems about life in wartime Box which he published as Poetry? ...  Pooh!
 
Poet and Lover
He dedicated his poems to his fellow pupils at Westminster who attended the chapel at Poets Corner 1898 - 1900 but the work is modern and humorous, not in the least nostalgic. Much of it is very funny, "I daren't get up. It's gone again. Wartime elastic gives me a pain When it snaps." Another poem is called The Little Girl who Ate Chocolate Laxative.
 
Much of the work appears to be a tribute to Maisie, although she remains unnamed. He talks of his feelings for her That indefinable thing from above called Love. And several poems refer to her as an old woman, Queen of the West, throw out your chest, Be proud of your elderly charm. Your lovers are legion, from every region, Detractors can do you no harm.
 
To reproduce the whole book would be too much but two poems express both his literary ability in reflecting on the Bath Blitz and on his love for Maisie in the poignant ending of Paillasse.
Blitz on Bath
Whine .. whistle .. wonk !
A geyser of earth,
An avalanche of masonry
Entombing those who said "They'll never come to Bath."
 
Dust, acrid fumes and powdered glass
Mingle with sand from children's play-pit
To permeate the Paragon.
 
A silence first, as if to honour death.
Then shriek, a curse, a moan, a dying breath;
A warden's voice, "There's someone here."
Quiet, methodical, they work without fear,
Angels who roll away the stone from the sepulchre.
One lifts a tiny body tenderly
And lays it reverently beside the road.
A bloodstained wisp of hair has streaked his hand.
He wipes it on his sleeve, then turns to dig.
Another incident is over.
 
Baedeker brigands circle above the flares
Floating to earth from parachutes,
Palls to cover the dead.
Unhindered, bestial birds of prey
Spew bombs into the bowl of Bath.
 


Pent-up emotion, each to his kind,
Gives voice-some crude, some refined.
"Leave me alone : look after him.
Let me go back. I won't leave Jim. . . .
Mummy, where's Daddy? Please take me away.
We'll live to fight another day.
Don't worry. We can take it.
The bastards! "

And now incendiaries
Rain into the cauldron that is Bath.
Some fall outside, on grassy slopes beyond the city wall,
In rows, like flickering headstones protesting to the skies
Against the day when yawning tombs must render up their dead.
Long lengths of hose like lazing snakes
Wind in and out the streets
Where man, no longer master of machine,
Joins battle with the elements.
 
At last the raiders go
Leaving inferno.
Like cry of hired mourner shuffling behind the dead,
The long-drawn wail of siren over Bath
Laments her glory.
 
Slowly from bluish tinge to roseate hue
The floodlight of Heaven
Falls softly on the stricken city.
The Queen is dead - Long live the Queen.
Resurgat.

Paillasse
Paillasse - in French a clown,
He's up and down
T'wixt rus and town,
Not London town, the Bath of Nash,
A city once of culture, now of cash.
 
He rides a bike and wears a dirty mack,
A last war pack
Upon his back.
Six thousand miles - not more than ten each run
From Box to Bath for shopping, he has done.
 
He knows the shoppers well, the favoured few
Who do not queue.
That's nothing new
To him.
He breezes in with greeting bright,
"I'll meet you on the bus to-night."
Or, "How's your husband ? What's the news?
He's on his way ?
Hoo-blooming-ray!
Another honeymoon. What joy! What bliss!
Forgotten, have you, baby, how to kiss? "
 

 


"Behave yourself, young man" (He's fifty-four).
So please, no more,
Or there's the door.
The buyer's looking. It's the sack.
Whatever have you got inside your pack ? "

"The head of a calf, the tail of an ox,
Cakes known as 'rocks,
Utility socks,
Cabbage, a lettuce, some tripe and an eel,
A bottle of whisky, a lemon, some peel."
 
See that man, says one of the queue,
As he leaves on his bike.
"I'm telling you
He gets everything he wants."
 
He doesn't, of course.
 
With heavy heart he chugs his way,
Outwardly gay, Homewards-to what?
 
To watch over one who in illness and pain
With sightless eyes will never again Join in the fun.
Her life's work is done.
He is a clown,
But she was an artist.
Odee lived on until 1975, aged 91, still living locally but largely unknown. He married again and both the war years and the struggle of Maisie became less painful over time. The Edwardian world of musical comedy theatre had passed away long before.
References
[1] The Hull Daily Mail, 5 December 1934
[2] The Hull Daily Mail, 2 November 1934
[3] The Wiltshire Times, 15 October 1932
[4] The Wiltshire Times, 15 October 1932
[5] James Ross Moore, Andre Charlot: The Genius of Intimate Musical Revue, 2005, McFarland, p.78
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