Don’t forget the diver!

Dreadnought Stanley (left) in fetching gown with his Diving Belles - and his wife for just four years, Mercia, on the right, in a trouser suit remarkably fashionable for the Thirties!
Dreadnought Stanley (left) in fetching gown with his Diving Belles – and his wife for just four years, Mercia, on the right, in a trouser suit remarkably fashionable for the Thirties!

“Are you ready? Are you all looking?” The shout had come from far above, but it was unnecessary because everyone was ready They were all looking -looking up at a diving board and a man sitting on a chair.

The back legs of the chair were at the end of the board. The diver had only to lean back a little too far and…

The shout came again: “So -are you ready?”

The crowd yelled back: “We’re ready!”

The diver leant back hard, gripping the chair. And over they both went, drawing tight circles in the air before there was a great splash as man and chair landed in a huge tank of water.

The diver came up grinning. That was my cue to go amongst the crowd with a box, hoping the spectators were impressed enough to dig into their pockets. My ‘catch-phrases’ were “Don’t forget the diver” and “No insurance company will touch him.”

The diver was Dreadnought Stanley and he was my husband. The time was around 1930, the place any fairground or fete, anywhere a crowd would gather.

He really did ‘dread nought’; for another of his dives,

performed at night and billed as ‘The Spectacular Fire Dive’, he was tied in a sack on the board, then the sack was set alight. He jumped off the board, blazing bright against the night sky

The human fireball was doused by the water in the tank, he would effect his escape from the sack and come up panting – and I’d cry: “Don’t forget the diver”.

More than once he was burnt quite badly.

Looking back, I wonder why I was never afraid for him. Perhaps it was because I accepted this was what he wanted to do. I wouldn’t be able to
change him, so I didn’t try.

We had met in Skegness, Lincolnshire. He was performing there for the season, where he often used to dive from the pier, sometimes on a bicycle! He would come into the Imperial Restaurant where my mother cooked and I worked as a waitress although he never really noticed me.

On an evening out with my girl-friends, we decided to catch his act. The looking up -after a few drinks – made me feel dizzy and I fainted. I came round to see none other than Dreadnought Stanley himself bending over me, his face full of concern. The next day when he came into the restaurant he inquired particularly after my health. Not long after that there appeared in the local paper the headline: ‘Diver Takes The Plunge’ – we were married.

It was an extraordinary life: a summer season, usually at Skegness, where he added a couple of Diving Belles into the act, then travelling up and down the country – up to Glasgow, down to Bath, and to many places in between.

Stan proved to be a man of bravery – he once rescued a woman intent on suicide from the Mersey – and a man of charm. On live radio, he broke off from an interview for In Town Tonight and, knowing I’d be listening at home, started chatting just to me -“How are you, Merc?”

However, our life together was not to last. He began to get terrible stomach pains caused, it was thought, by infected water in the tank. An operation proved necessary. He seemed to be getting over it… but, suddenly, unexpectedly, he was gone. He was aged just 30. We had been married for only four years.

But, over 60 years later, I still haven’t forgotten the diver!

Mercia Dobinson

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Don’t forget the diver!

Dreadnought Stanley (left) in fetching gown with his Diving Belles - and his wife for just four years, Mercia, on the right, in a trouser suit remarkably fashionable for the Thirties!
Dreadnought Stanley (left) in fetching gown with his Diving Belles – and his wife for just four years, Mercia, on the right, in a trouser suit remarkably fashionable for the Thirties!

“Are you ready? Are you all looking?” The shout had come from far above, but it was unnecessary because everyone was ready They were all looking -looking up at a diving board and a man sitting on a chair.

The back legs of the chair were at the end of the board. The diver had only to lean back a little too far and…

The shout came again: “So -are you ready?”

The crowd yelled back: “We’re ready!”

The diver leant back hard, gripping the chair. And over they both went, drawing tight circles in the air before there was a great splash as man and chair landed in a huge tank of water.

The diver came up grinning. That was my cue to go amongst the crowd with a box, hoping the spectators were impressed enough to dig into their pockets. My ‘catch-phrases’ were “Don’t forget the diver” and “No insurance company will touch him.”

The diver was Dreadnought Stanley and he was my husband. The time was around 1930, the place any fairground or fete, anywhere a crowd would gather.

He really did ‘dread nought’; for another of his dives,

performed at night and billed as ‘The Spectacular Fire Dive’, he was tied in a sack on the board, then the sack was set alight. He jumped off the board, blazing bright against the night sky

The human fireball was doused by the water in the tank, he would effect his escape from the sack and come up panting – and I’d cry: “Don’t forget the diver”.

More than once he was burnt quite badly.

Looking back, I wonder why I was never afraid for him. Perhaps it was because I accepted this was what he wanted to do. I wouldn’t be able to
change him, so I didn’t try.

We had met in Skegness, Lincolnshire. He was performing there for the season, where he often used to dive from the pier, sometimes on a bicycle! He would come into the Imperial Restaurant where my mother cooked and I worked as a waitress although he never really noticed me.

On an evening out with my girl-friends, we decided to catch his act. The looking up -after a few drinks – made me feel dizzy and I fainted. I came round to see none other than Dreadnought Stanley himself bending over me, his face full of concern. The next day when he came into the restaurant he inquired particularly after my health. Not long after that there appeared in the local paper the headline: ‘Diver Takes The Plunge’ – we were married.

It was an extraordinary life: a summer season, usually at Skegness, where he added a couple of Diving Belles into the act, then travelling up and down the country – up to Glasgow, down to Bath, and to many places in between.

Stan proved to be a man of bravery – he once rescued a woman intent on suicide from the Mersey – and a man of charm. On live radio, he broke off from an interview for In Town Tonight and, knowing I’d be listening at home, started chatting just to me -“How are you, Merc?”

However, our life together was not to last. He began to get terrible stomach pains caused, it was thought, by infected water in the tank. An operation proved necessary. He seemed to be getting over it… but, suddenly, unexpectedly, he was gone. He was aged just 30. We had been married for only four years.

But, over 60 years later, I still haven’t forgotten the diver!

Mercia Dobinson

More Stories

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