The Possibility of Happiness: ‘Charles Hawtrey, 1914–1988: The Man Who Was Private Widdle’ (Roger Lewis, 2001)
Unusual books seem to have a habit of making their way to my shelf. Roger Lewis’s biography of the late Carry On actor Charles Hawtrey is one cherished example. Having been found by my dad (possibly on Amazon, possibly in a charity shop), it was subsequently delivered to me as an unexpected but nonetheless welcomed Christmas present.
Six months later, inspired by a hungover Saturday morning viewing of Carry On Up The Khyber on ITV3, I’ve decided to give Lewis’s book a quick write-up.
Charles Hawtrey (born George Hartree) was a prolific comic actor, whose career began on London stages in the 1930s and reached its zenith with the Carry On films of the 1950s-1970s (Hawtrey starred in twenty-three of twenty-nine, including his most famous role as the fragile Private Widdle in Up The Khyber). Lewis, whose other biographical subjects include Peter Sellers and Laurence Olivier, takes us on a detailed and enthusiastic tour of Hawtrey’s world. The book is split into two parts: ‘Art’ and ‘Life’. The former is an appraisal of Hawtrey’s acting style and career, the latter a retelling of his eccentric if ultimately flawed private life.
Lewis’s book is not a biography in the traditional sense. All biographical accounts have an agenda, regardless of what their writers may claim, but in Lewis’s case there is no pretence of objectivity. He writes as though in conversation, dispensing with neutrality in favour of unfettered opinion. The result is a writing style that’s as witty as it is catty (Lewis loves a wry bracketed or footnoted aside) but is never cruel. Quite the opposite, in fact. For all his sharpness of tone, Lewis writes from a place of profound affection for Hawtrey, as actor and individual.
The ‘Art’ section of the book seems to be where Lewis had the most fun. He lovingly discusses Hawtrey’s performances, notably spending much time and source material creating a picture of Hawtrey’s early days on stage during the 1930s. We hear of Hawtrey treading the boards in revue performances (a sort of satirical show combining sketches, music and dance) in London theatres, often playing female roles. His characters — la Vivandière, Madame René, Charlotte Tree (think about it…) — all shared a common waifishness, a dainty sense of mischief that delighted audiences. He even starred alongside Vivien Leigh in a forgotten farce called Bats in the Belfry in 1937 — a blending of talents so utterly incoherent as to almost defy imagination.
Hawtrey’s earlier stage career feels like something from a lost time, and indeed it was. As a theatrical medium, the revue declined in popularity from the 1930s and Hawtrey’s career seems to have followed suit. He did a few light-hearted films during this period, but his overall roster of performances between the 1940s and late 1950s was pretty barren. Lewis inserts a bleak ‘Entr’acte’ in the middle of the book, in which he lists twenty-three rejection letters received by Hawtrey over 1939–1956. The effect is crushing.
Hawtrey found his feet again with the Carry On series, starting in 1958 with Carry On Sergeant. Lewis’s analyses Hawtrey’s Carry On performances with surgical precision, celebrating Hawtrey’s ‘wine-dark voice’, ‘El Greco face’ and even the way he tilts his awkward, bony jaw. Lewis rates Hawtrey as the finest of the Carry On stars. Sid James, Kenneth Williams, Joan Sims — all had their comic moments. But none, Lewis argues, had the otherworldly charisma and effortless timing of Hawtrey.
Of course, the Carry On films had a darker side. The actors, though beloved by the public, were treated dreadfully by their producers, who worked them half to death for a pittance (‘I got bugger all and at the end was shat on very badly’, Hawtrey later complained). Poor working conditions and limited work outside the Carry Ons — as well as a host of existing mental and physical health problems — took their toll on poor Charlie.
The ‘Life’ part of the book reflects this, as Lewis traces Hawtrey’s descent into alcoholic reclusiveness in the seaside town of Deal, Kent, during the 1980s (footage exists of a television interview with a rough-sounding Hawtrey from 1984 — one can’t help but wonder how they managed to drag him up to London for the shoot, let alone sober him up enough to stagger out on set). The years before his death from peripheral vascular disease in 1988 are described in visceral detail, reading almost like a nightmarish version of Carry On scatological humour. But still, Lewis is never judgemental, never sneering at Hawtrey’s suffering. The book’s epilogue, which consists of a reprinted letter from Kenneth Williams rather bitchily describing Hawtrey’s dismal state after visiting Deal in 1987, is as saddening as it is infuriating. Infuriating because Williams, who had enough demons of his own, could be so snide in the face of such tragedy.
A reader in 2023 may find things missing from this book. A contemporary biography might dwell more on Hawtrey’s not-so-secret homosexuality (which was illegal for most of his life), contextualising it within the field of queer history. Discussing Hawtrey’s androgenicity, Lewis also taps into themes of gender fluidity that a modern writer might analyse in closer detail. Perhaps there is space for an updated biography of Hawtrey, a more politicised text for more turbulent times. Or perhaps enough has been said already. Addressing questions about her lifelong refusal to marry, Joan Sims allegedly exclaimed ‘I never married because the right person never came along… I leave others to seek for darker explanations. For me it’s extremely simple!’ Maybe Hawtrey would have wanted his private life treated similarly.
But until then, we have Lewis’s delightful little book. To call it a biography really is misleading. For all the detail Lewis puts into retelling Hawtrey’s life, what we’re left with is more like a love letter. Lewis clearly enjoyed writing this book. It’s playful, delightfully snide at times, and always as unironically joyous as the Carry On films themselves. Reflecting on his performances, Lewis remarks that ‘Hawtrey implies the possibility of happiness’. Here, we catch a glimpse of that happiness.
