Janet and I spent last weekend in Blackpool, and it certainly brought back wonderful memories.

During the 1960s Blackpool was the place to be, especially during Feast Week when it seemed that the whole of Barnsley migrated to the Fylde Coast for seven days.

You could spend a whole week being entertained in Blackpool. There was the Tower (circus, zoo, aquarium, ballroom), Pleasure Beach, Stanley Park and Zoo, Derby Baths and the open-air one, Uncle Tom’s Cabin Boating Pool, the three magnificent piers, First Division football, the trams, Squires Gate Airport, Madame Tussaud’s, cinemas galore, miles of golden beach and safe sea-swimming (or so we believed) – and arguably the finest live entertainment in the world.

Artists, who were already house-hold names, had not really hit the big time until their photograph appeared on the side of a Blackpool tram.

One of the most popular Blackpool entertainers was Peter Webster, who had his own daily kids’ show in the open-air theatre on Central Pier.

Peter was, to us, a comic genius. His show was split into three parts. First, he demonstrated his talent as a singer, whistler and comedian; second, he encouraged children under seven to compete in a party-game and third, he would invite youngsters, over seven years old, to take part in a talent contest.

I remember the first time I saw him on stage pretending to get angry after tripping up, with the microphone wire tangled hopelessly around his ankles. The packed audience was almost hysterical with laughter. And then to hear him sing and whistle was gob-smacking. Could a mere human being really whistle a tune with such heavenly panache?

When I was five I won the Musical Chairs competition and, as a prize, was given a tiny stick of rock. But as I descended the stage steps with a face a mile long, I heard this loud whistle, and turning round I saw Peter offering me a toy bow and arrow. Wow! This time I dismounted the stage with a big smile, and suddenly I heard another whistle, and he was offering me a football. I didn’t mind to-ing and fro-ing across stage, and the audience thought it hilarious.

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The year after, I happened to be the lucky winner yet again, with the same dog-whistle routine but different prizes. Then in 1961 I returned to compete in the talent show.

My Uncle Mike was a trained singer and had the most delightful singing voice I’d ever heard – then or since. A few weeks before going on holiday I stayed at my Grandma Bray’s for a week and Uncle Mike was always singing, Tell Laura I Love Her. It wasn’t long before I’d learned it by heart.

Peter Webster’s audience came from all over the north but, that day, perhaps 75 percent of people were from either Barnsley or Scotland.

When all the contestants had performed, the audience had to pick a winner by a show of hands. The Scots did very well but because I was the only competitor from Barnsley, a forest of hands shot in the air for me. I could see my mam, dad, sister and Nannan Steele, all with both hands pointing to the sky. My victory was overwhelming.

But was I really the best young performer on stage? I very much doubt it, but being from town obviously gave me an edge. I couldn’t care less that things were loaded in my favour – I was a seven-year-old winner with a gold watch, a brand new ten-bob note and a fancy autograph book.

Over recent years I’ve sung to hundreds of audiences throughout the north of England. However, if I’m asked before a performance whether I’m any good, I always look over both shoulders, like a gunpowder plotter, and whisper, “Nope, I can’t sing for toffee, but as long as they’re willing to pay me...” And I watch as their expression quickly changes from shock to a broad grin.

And if after a gig, someone says, “Wow! What a wonderful entertainer you are, Ronnie Steele,” I pretend I’m deaf, just so I can hear them repeat the same phrase over again, until they realise they’ve been duped.

On the afternoon of Thursday 28th November, the brilliant Richie Brooks and I are doing a show for senior citizens at the Shaw Inn. Although, I very much doubt that our photos will appear on the side of a Stagecoach bus.

Keep scanning the Chronicle for further details. Don’t miss! Book early!