Sir Noël Coward: playwright, composer, director, actor and singer, known for his wit, flamboyance, debonair charm and what Time magazine called “a sense of personal style, a combination of cheek and chic, pose and poise”. We’ve met Coward before in this blog, due to his involvement with Brief Encounter. His songs have amused and charmed me for years: witty and knowing wordplay, precisely enunciated and put together with an extraordinary degree of scansion and unity, and often with a killer title: Don’t Let’s Be Beastly To The Germans, Could You Please Oblige Us with a Bren Gun?, I Went To A Marvellous Party…
Typical of his gloriously sardonic songcraft, is this week’s glimpse of the sublime, Don’t Put Your Daughter On The Stage, Mrs Worthington. In the Thirties, at the height of his powers, Coward was apt to receive a constant stream of letters from women begging him to find parts for their respective daughters in whatever he happened to be staging next. As Coward himself put it:
“Some years ago when I was returning from the Far East on a very large ship, I was pursued around the decks every day by a very large lady. She showed me some photographs of her daughter – a repellent-looking girl – and seemed convinced that she was destined for a great stage career. Finally, in sheer self-preservation, I locked myself in my cabin and wrote this song – “Don’t Put Your Daughter On The Stage, Mrs Worthington”.
The slapdown is exquisite. Enjoy its deft lyrics and jaunty tune, below. However, you won’t hear the fourth verse because this was pulled from the song as it was considered by the Lord Chamberlain too offensive for the prim 1930s Britain!
Don’t put your daughter on the stage, Mrs Worthington,
Don’t put your daughter on the stage,
The profession is overcrowded
And the struggle’s pretty tough
And admitting the fact
She’s burning to act,
That isn’t quite enough.
She has nice hands, to give the wretched girl her due,
But don’t you think her bust is too
Developed for her age?
I repeat
Mrs Worthington,
Sweet
Mrs Worthington,
Don’t put your daughter on the stage.
Regarding yours, dear Mrs Worthington,
Of Wednesday the 23rd,
Although your baby
May be,
Keen on a stage career,
How can I make it clear,
That this is not a good idea.
For her to hope,
Dear Mrs Worthington,
Is on the face of it absurd,
Her personality
Is not in reality
Inviting enough,
Exciting enough
For this particular sphere.
Don’t put your daughter on the stage, Mrs Worthington,
Don’t put your daughter on the stage,
She’s a bit of an ugly duckling
You must honestly confess,
And the width of her seat
Would surely defeat
Her chances of success,
It’s a loud voice, and though it’s not exactly flat,
She’ll need a little more than that
To earn a living wage.
On my knees,
Mrs Worthington,
Please
Mrs Worthington,
Don’t put your daughter on the stage.
Don’t put your daughter on the stage, Mrs Worthington,
Don’t put your daughter on the stage,
Though they said at the school of acting
She was lovely as Peer Gynt,
I’m afraid on the whole
An ingénue role
Would emphasize her squint,
She’s a big girl, and though her teeth are fairly good
She’s not the type I ever would
Be eager to engage,
No more buts,
Mrs Worthington,
NUTS,
Mrs Worthington,
Don’t put your daughter on the stage.
[Song normally ends here, but here’s the refrain that fell foul of the Censor]
Don’t put your daughter on the stage, Mrs Worthington,
Don’t put your daughter on the stage,
One look at her bandy legs should prove
She hasn’t got a chance,
In addition to which
The son of a bitch
Can neither sing nor dance,
She’s a vile girl and uglier than mortal sin,
One look at her has put me in
A tearing bloody rage,
That sufficed
Mrs Worthington,
Christ!
Mrs Worthington,
Don’t put your daughter on the stage, or your son!
