‘The man me mother married had a lovely gentle smile,
with his teeth all shinin’, just like pearls,
in the middle of his dial.
Well of course the Da has shiny teeth,
but they’re not the real thing,
You can hear his false ones clickin’
If ever he tries to sing!’

Talking about dad’s teeth, to him they were an instrument. He was a perfectionist at projecting sound, lyric, word and accent to the furthest reaches of the Royal, no mean feat as it was only slightly smaller than La Scala in Italy, and there were none of the modern microphone doodas then, either.

So anytime he had to get anything done, it was planned like an army manoeuvre. His dentist was Hymie Wolfe, just off St Stephen’s Green. Dad was terrified that if he had any major work done, it might change his speech patterns and make him have a whistle. Hymie did the most incredible gold bridgework, real works of art on Dad’s teeth.

Dad loved to surprise many people with his ability to do accents. He actually had quite a neutrally accented voice, and it was really only the turns of phrase that showed he was from Dublin. He used to have fun in England as well whilst filming by acting in character.

At Portsmouth, where he played an Admiral in the movie ‘Watch Your Stern’, he was dressed in the full rig of the day. Walking from the set, he’d often be accosted by Officers and Ratings of the real British Navy, who’d swear black and blue that they’d served under him in Malta, Gibraltar or Aden! He’d never let on he was only an actor, in case it made the matelots feel stupid, so he returned salutes and would ask them in which ship they’d served, saying he “remembered it well!”

I knew dad worked in the theatre but for a long time I wondered what he really did. My mother explained that the theatre was his job and a lot of things finally fell into place! I’d often wondered why Dad seemed to know so many people, who were always coming up to have a chat. I didn’t realise that dad was an only child, either, because I had so many ‘uncles’, funnily enough, all in the theatre as well, like Uncle Joe Lynch, Uncle Cecil Sheridan, Uncle Jack Cruise, etc., and a myriad of Aunties, Aunty Babs De Monte and Aunty Alice Delgarno.

My brother Mike was named after my maternal grandfather, whom I never knew. Glynn is named after Hugh Glynn McGlashen, a bookie from Northern Ireland, who used to join dad and the rest of the punters in the Annual trek to Liverpool for the Grand National Steeplechase.

I’m named after Dad, whose full name was Patrick Joseph Noel, even though he was always called Noel. Victor is named after a priest he befriended on Fiji when doing ‘The Blue Lagoon’ in the late 1940s. Dad numbered us like Charlie Chan’s sons, No. One Son, No. Two Son. I’ve always been No. Three Son in the family.

I used to love going to the theatres where Dad worked, a veritable wonderland for a kid. My favourite to visit backstage was the Royal in Hawkins Street. The No. 1 Dressing room seemed vast to me, and the greatest fun was seeing all the lights around the mirrors, costumes and makeup all lined up. I used, sometimes, to put on some of the costumes, especially if they were doing Cowboys and Indians! The holsters, guns and Chief’s Headdresses were great gas to play with, except for one time when one of the cast came in to change and was yelling and screaming he couldn’t find his props! Guess who was wearing them?

I once remember a comedian, Harry Bailey, who used to do a comic routine rather like Jack Benny, with a violin as a prop. One week he surprised everyone by appearing on stage with his violin, a tall stool and a box containing one Male Mallard Duck! He launched into a song, and every now and again he’d point the bow at the duck who would oblige with a loud “QUACK QUACK”. It brought the house down. I just had to meet this phenomenon and proceeded to the Number 1 dressing Room, where it sat in state. I put my finger out to stroke it and was rewarded with a vicious peck!

Dad loved the Royal with a passion, no doubt also due to the fact that, just across the street from the stage door in Poolbeg Street stood Mulligan’s Bar. The cast would often adjourn there between and also during performances for a pint of Dublin’s most famous export, the schedule being so brutal sometimes.Dad was in Mulligan’s one day when he was called in a hurry as a scene had ended early, and was rushing across to the stage when his back locked on him. You can imagine the vision of dad, all 6’4” beanpole of him, halfway across the street, stopping traffic, bent over 90 degrees at the waist, unable to move.

The Gaiety was slightly different, although it did share one feature with the Royal, in that, across the lane from the stage door, stood Neary’s famous pub. One lasting memory was our annual trip to the Panto at the Gaiety, where we would be in a box. It was the height of luxury, with our little tubs of ice cream, fizzy lemonade and Rowntree’s Black Magic Chocolates.

Above: Patrick Purcell who now lives in Canada. Noel is shown below at the Theatre Royal c. 1940.