​Memories of Teddy Boys in Worthing and attempts to ban them from the Assembly Hall dance

There were never more than six to ten real Teddy Boys in Worthing, who I can honestly say never caused any trouble to property or persons during the whole time of the fashion. I should know, as I was one, if not the main leader of them.

The whole myth about the film Rock Around the Clock and the music performed by Bill Hayley and His Comets came after the Teddy Boys fashion, who had by then moved very briefly into Victorian dress and then into what was known as the Ivy League look. So, it just did not happen.

This dancing in the aisles and slashing the seats were all lies. Yes, it did happen somewhere but not in Worthing, for the simple reason that Rock Around the Clock and Teddy Boys were not in the same time frame. Ivy League was a direct contrast to the long coats, as they became shorter four-button suits.

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Alas, this era was the forerunner of the Mods, who did become violent and much damage to property was done, although I cannot recall any in Worthing. But then, this was the period when I was conscripted into the Army for National Service, something which did nobody any harm and should probably be brought back, but that's another story.

For a start, the Teddy Boy fashion was, no matter what anybody says, a very smart look. It cost individual youths a lot of money to have one of these suits made and there were all accessories. Let's start with the suit. There was at the South Farm Road level crossing a bespoke tailor who cut suits made to measure from bolts of cloth perched up on racks at the back and sides of his small shop.

Unfortunately, I cannot remember his name but I have a vague feeling it was Vic somebody or other. Anyway, I personally had four suits made by him. Who can remember the various patterns? Large and small window pane checks, large and small dogtooth, black barathea, herringbone and the various smart stripes.

The jacket, which caused so much trouble later on at the Saturday dances, had to be long, 40in at least. Yes, they did have velvet collars to start with but not velvet cuffs, as some people think. However, the collars became optional towards the end. The jackets had one or two vents up the back, dependent on the individual preference. What was important to start with was four, or sometimes more, buttons, nearly always done up. This changed later when the waistcoats became really ornamental and then the buttons were undone and, hands in the pockets, pushed the long jacket flowing out at the back.

The trousers were, of course, drainpipes, thus, marking out the Teddy Boy fashion, as anyone wearing drainpipe trousers was called a Teddy Boy, even if he was not. The trousers had to be pressed, creased and have turn ups, with side silk in bright colours. They had two pockets, in which one wore a bob and chain across the front. These waistcoats cost a lot of money, as well as the tie, and the more outrageous and colourful the pattern the more they were shown off.

The shirts were always white and had detachable collars. Who now at 16 would bother to have separate collars, which had to be sent to West Worthing Laundry in Dominion Road to be starched and pressed, and which lasted for one night? There were also collar studs and cufflinks, and that all worn by working class boys. The ties were very plain and matched the colour of the suit. They might have a faint stripe but were always narrow. That's where the tune Slim Jim, as performed by the Ted Heath band came from, but more about the music later.

To complete the outfit, there were the shoes. Big, black, balloon-cap leather, immaculately polished and laced up to show off the drainpipe trousers.

Next, we come to the hair, which every boy took great care over. For a start, all Teddy Boys were clean shaven. Everybody went regularly to the barber to have his neck shaved and the back of the hair came together in what was called a duck's arse. The sides were swept back but the front was pulled forward into what was called an elephant's trunk. There was at the time only two things to put on the hair, one was Brylcreem and the other Brilliantine. Both were used very sparingly to avoid it getting on the suit collar and, of course, the starched shirt collar underneath.

Bearing all this in mind, who, after spending £20 or £30 on an outfit, especially when the wages were probably no more than £3 10 shillings a week, would contemplate rolling around in the gutter fighting? It just did not happen. I challenge anyone who can state that they saw a fight between these immaculately-dressed lads. Yes, as the suits became plainer, still drainpipe trousers and jackets, there were some scuffles when groups of boys came over from Bognor or Brighton but that was after the real Teddy Boys fashion had been and gone.

On now to the Saturday night dances at the Assembly Hall. One has to remember that around that time, Worthing was dead and buried. True, there were four cinemas but the films finished around 10.20pm and as the last bus nearly always left Worthing for Lancing or Findon at 10.30pm, there was no time to hang around if you wanted to take your girl home. Walking home was a nightmare as nearly every policeman wanted to stop you and ask questions.

It did not take long for the authorities to try to put a stop to this newfound fashion in teenagers. By now, the girls were starting to dress to a code and this frightened them because up until then, all dress sense was plain. Then the youth started to rebel. There was real music to listen to and with the housing boom, young men all had jobs and money. Mansfield record shop, which is now McDonald's, started selling music for the youngsters.

Proper music, so no more Victor Silvester but the exciting swing music from America, soon to be copied by the great bands of Ted Heath and Ken Mackintosh. Frustrated young musicians, tied down to years of waltzes, foxtrots and medium quick steps, found the youngsters came alive when they jazzed it up.

As there was nowhere to go except the Dome cafe, which had a real espresso coffee machine and a juke box, where one could hear Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, Count Basie, Sammy Davis Jnr and a host of other stars for a tanner (sixpence), suddenly it became known that at the Assembly Hall, the resident band was slipping the odd tune in among the standard ballroom dance tunes.

Contrary to what people think, the youngsters did not go into the pubs. Apart from being under age, there was no attraction. Who wanted to go where there were no girls, no music and only old men propping up the bar and drinking pints of mild? Saturday night dances suddenly became a Mecca for the youth of the town.

At the beginning, you could get into the Saturday night dances without any trouble from the door staff. But once inside, the suits and drainpipes stood out like a sore thumb. Round and round went all the stuffed shirts with their fine ladies in pre-war frocks, gliding gracefully across the floor. The musicians went through the standard numbers then a quickstep, and in one corner a couple started jiving, then another. The ballroom dancers looked on in horror and kept a wide berth, thus leaving room for more youngsters to join in.

Suddenly, the band woke up. The next number was faster, the jiving more flamboyant. Soon, the staff started to get complaints. Who let these youngsters in? The resident band was the Danny Teasdale Orchestra, led by the fine trumpeter Arthur Dyson, whose brother Peter was also in the band. The band liked what they saw and it soon became a compromise that they had a half-hour session for jiving only.

Worthing was suddenly confronted with a young population who wanted a change. Who was it who thought up the idea that Teddy Boys with their long jackets and drainpipe trousers would not be allowed into the dances? The drainpipes were becoming standard so it was decided that anybody attempting to get into these dances who had a jacket longer than 34in was banned.

It seems preposterous but that is what happened. The doorman had a tape measure and turned everyone away whose jacket was too long. What did we do? At first, we wore overcoats to cover up the jacket and deposited them in the cloakroom. Once inside, everything carried on. The half-hour interval became longer and the band began to play more numbers from the hit parade.

Who remembers The Creep, a slow shuffle where boys and girls could dance very close while the old fogies looked on in disgust? There there was Slim Jim, Hot Toddy and faster numbers like Seven Eleven, and the favourite of all, 'the music goes down and around like this', in which Arthur Dyson played superbly and with great gusto, to much applause, or Skin Deep, where the drummer stopped the dancing and everybody stood and watched.

How could they stop it? Anybody who looked suspicious was asked to remove their overcoat and out came the tape measure again. The police had a constable at the door to make sure the regulations were carried out, the money spent is unbelievable.

We countered this by pinning up our jackets with safety pins to make sure they did not hang down too long and in we went. Eventually, complaints were made from all sides and the authorities had to bow down to public pressure. Tea dances were out, at least they were at the Assembly Hall, but only for a time.