How it all began.....

One year after leaving drama school I end up working the door of the oldest actors clubs in the world. Not content being a member I had to spend my free time inside the underground world of late night theatricals. 1993 ended with a few tele jobs, The Bill being the first, and waiting for that phone call. A funny and very generous actor, Alan Curtis, was helping give the secretary and club manager, Jonathan Booth his first send off (he had many before he finally left for the Cook Islands) and asked if I would sit on the door and let in the members. I had seen how Jonathan Booth had done it by the countless times I had come down the stairs to his dulcet tones of 'you a member?' and when unable to show your membership card as you had not been issued one yet, he would say 'next time you see me say, where's my fucking card?...okay?' followed by a billow of gauloise tobacco smoke, now with the smoking ban, that would be a thing of the past.
Then The Green Room was a place to play snooker after working front of house in one of the many West End theatres. The beer was good but the company was better. Everybody you bumped into was either doing something mundane until that 'dream job' came along or they were trying to play down the fact they had that 'dream job' but something was still missing and spending time underground in the club until the early hours helped. I think that first time on the door I must have impressed because I was asked if I wouldn't mind working the door several nights a week, sharing the responsibility with someone else. At the time I was like many of the people down there, waiting for the break all actors think is coming their way, so money was a bit tight and any extra was a bonus. From three nights a week in the beginning I got to know who was who at The Green Room. It was at the start of 'Sunset Boulevard' at The Adelphi and most of the cast had joined and the membership had swelled to over five hundred plus other West End theatres had heard about this little gem of The Strand.
I must point out that after many years working the door of The Green Room and meeting and greeting countless people I'm not one to name names but I will tell it how it was and what went on as I feel the stories are more important than their participants. Now that bits over and done with I must remind people reading this about the one and only Jonathan Booth. The man who moulded many a young actor who stepped inside the club. Whose acid wit and abrasive nature made him a very much-liked individual on par with Norman from The Coach and Horses. He was once the secretary but when I first joined the club he was evening manager looking after the running of the bar with two barmen Nick and Stan, both working actors and Sue who worked backstage at The Adelphi. Jonathan was always to be found playing snooker. I would say it was a passion of his and he enjoyed spending many an afternoon on the green baize with the members. I will try and best describe him to you. Thick grey hair and smoke tinted glasses which he said the lens were made in switzerland, specially coated. A slight vocal lisp, a bit like Jonathan Ross is with his r's. A very dry sense of humour and could at times be very cutting but also very good humoured to people who understood him. An all round fascinating character, taking his place in the history of clubs, pubs and drinking establishments all over London.
For everyone out there who never went to Adam Street I feel I have to put you in the picture about the club and for those who knew Adam Street but alcohol has clouded the scene, this bit is for you too. After standing outside what looked like a rather imposing Georgian building, a large black door stood in your way. A small door buzzer positioned on the left allowed communication with the depths below. When granted entry a small flight of step stairs lay beneath you and once you turned the corner several more stairs lead you to the door and unfortunately to me. A small recess with stable door fitted, half opened with the bottom half closed allowing a signing in book perched ready for your signature. Once you had got past me, you had to turn left into the corridor, straight ahead in the distance you could make out the baulk end of a snooker table so that would make that then snooker room. Your first left lead you into the club room which was a high arched ceilinged room full of long trestle tables with green plastic table covers and a candle on each setting a romantic mood. On the far wall was the Presidents' portraits, the middle one being the current one. The one of the far right was always one which new members would comment. They'd say 'that's not...you know...that guy from Fawlty Towers?' And yes it was Ballard Berkeley a.k.a The Major.
Now the bar had enough standing room for about twenty people but most evenings it would have over fifty all squeezed in, some sitting on a large oak chest that had been in the club for over a hundred years. You could still make out the two bullet holes in its side put there when a member discharged what he thought was a blank firing gun. Thankfully no one was inside it at the time. The chest was fondly known as the naughty chest and any unruly member was placed inside until he had calmed down. The walls were lined with portraits and pictures of members of days gone by. Everywhere you looked, old faces watched your every move with gleeful intent. The aim of the club was to have fun with good friends and they were glad that tradition was upheld. Back through to the snooker room, it had a small raised area with card tables and a large Mouilet clock on the mantle above the fireplace. Many a hand of poker was played on those tables and many a member walked away with a nights wage gone but that's poker. A regular card school on a tuesday was where you saw real card players who enjoyed the sport of poker. Even down to playing at christmas, with mince pies and crackers and wearing the obligatory christmas cracker paper hat. Either side of the full sized snooker table were large red sofas, slightly worn but eminently comfortable. The kind you just sink into and find hard to get up. Everyone had their favourite spot and competition was fierce. First get your seat, dump your bags, head to the bar and get a round in. Marking your territory, like laying your towel on a sun lounger, was how you got your spot. Over time the club became busier and busier so getting their early became a must.

to be continued.......