It Happened To Me | Peter O'Leary

Summer's High Note

As a young architect in the late 1950s I was employed by a firm with offices in Portland Place in London. The six of us assistants had our drawing boards in the back room overlooking the flat roofs of a row of mews houses across a long courtyard. What I remember best about my few months at this office was a stunt I managed to pull off that hot summer.

The owner of one of the mews houses overlooked by our drawing office started to appear on his flat roof with his wife, a drinks trolley and a telephone with which he conducted his business. Our belief that he was connected in some way with show business was reinforced when one afternoon Shirley Bassey appeared on his roof dressed in a one-piece bathing costume. At that time she was about 20 and already very well-known. I had in fact watched her perform quite recently at Oxford's New Theatre.

Wouldn't it be fun, I asked my fellow draughtsmen, if we could ring that rooftop phone and ask to speak to Shirley? Alas, we knew neither the number nor the name of its owner. One day however when the wind was blowing in our direction the rooftop phone rang and I heard its owner announce, "Langham 7432," which I immediately noted down for Shirley's next appearance. This came a few days later whilst the sun continued to shine.

Having told the two of my colleagues nearest our rear windows to continue to pore over their drawings I dialled our neighbour's phone and we all hugged ourselves in anticipation as it rang. The owner picked it up and I asked to speak to Shirley. Although clearly puzzled he put his hand over the mouthpiece and told her, "It's for you". Equally puzzled she asked him, "Who is it?" and he repeated her question to me. During this exchange I could, of course, by watching them closely, and lip-reading and observing their body language, make out their every reaction.

"Tell her it's Bill," I replied, which he did. She gave a shrug and took the phone. I then told her that we'd met a few nights previously at a Soho drinking club and talked about music. This was a lucky guess as she asked me if I was the guy in the blue blazer. "I'm flattered you remember me," I replied.

During this exchange the mews owner realised that nobody she had met could possibly know either where she was at that moment or the number of the adjacent telephone. His bemusement gave way to amusement as he realised someone was having a bit of fun. He began scanning the upper windows of surrounding properties while my colleagues remained bent over their drawing boards and I stayed in the background. After a couple of minutes into our conversation the penny dropped for Shirley too and she asked me how I knew where she was.

I was waiting for that question and replied, "Because I can see you". She immediately also looked about at all the surrounding buildings before asking me where I was. I told her to turn sideways, away from our office, and to raise her eyes to the little brick structure on the roof of that building (which I imagine was a tank room).

"But it has no window!" she exclaimed.

"When I said that's where I am,” I replied, “I didn't mean I was actually inside. Do you see the three TV aerials on its roof?”

When she said that she did, I replied, "Well, I'm the one in the middle," and put the phone down.

Shirley and her hosts continued their inspection of the surrounding buildings for the rest of that afternoon, but after that we never saw them again.