FORTIES movie star Betty Grable had her legs insured for £1 million. And another major star of that era, Eleanor Powell, also had perfect pins, according to Giffnock man Jack Dyce.
FORTIES movie star Betty Grable had her legs insured for £1 million. And another major star of that era, Eleanor Powell, also had perfect pins, according to Giffnock man Jack Dyce.
Jack, 90 this year and still possessed of a twinkle in his eye, seems to have been a bit of a connoisseur in his day.
The former waiter and head barman had plenty of opportunity to become an expert, for the creme de la creme passed through Glasgow's Central Hotel in the half a century he worked there.
"Betty Grable came for a stage show," Jack nodded appreciatively. "Very attractive, very sexy. She had the legs.
"But there was one girl who had the most beautiful legs you've ever seen," he smiled, turning to his wife, Netta, sitting beside him on the sofa.
"My wife topped them all. She's slimmer now, but they've still got the same shape."
Netta, 88 next month, smiled. Alas, she was wearing trousers and having just recovered from an illness, declined to perform her high-kicking party trick.
"She can still take her foot and stick it away round her shoulder," bragged Jack.
As a young cashier in the famous Malmaison Restaurant in the Central Hotel, Netta caught the eye of the young waiter who had just returned from the war.
Netta was equally smitten. "During the war, so many of the hotel staff were foreign. They were all good fun in their way, but Jack was a contrast. He was very kind and he had a quiet sense of humour."
Although he had been away for six and a half years serving in the Navy, Jack, who was brought up in Ibrox, was in with the bricks at the Central.
His own father, Geordie Dyce, was a waiter there during the Depression and was responsible for recruiting staff.
One image has burned itself on Jack's mind. The sight of hundreds of desperate men with overcoats over their uniforms waiting patiently at the back of the hotel.
"If you looked out of the window, you could see 300 men waiting for jobs, and most were likely to be turned away."
Cannily, Jack decided he would never go short of food if he was working in a hotel and he started as a commis waiter when he was just 14 in 1933.
"You got 12s6d the first week and your second week you went down to five shillings and a share of tips."
The Thirties were the glory days of the hotel. The Queen Mary was on the stocks, the biggest stars came to perform at The Alhambra Theatre and they all stayed at the Central.
"It was about the only hotel I remember that had pages and doormen," says Netta.
The Malmaison was renowned for its cuisine and a three-piece orchestra on the balcony added to the atmosphere, although during the war the menu offered delights such as spam and pigs' trotters.
You could rub shoulders with household names - although one celebrity presumably got his nosebag elsewhere.
Jack and Netta both remember the sensation cowboy Roy Rogers caused when he and his horse Trigger walked up the grand staircase of the hotel.
Netta does a good impression of Mae West, striking a pose and swaying her hips in mock seductive manner.
"She would come in every evening in her furs and say (here Netta adopts the familiar drawl) Hiya, Netta', she would say. Howya doin?'."
Netta had a soft spot for the exquisitely beautiful actress, Vivien Leigh, star of Gone with the Wind. There was no inkling of the depression that would later ruin her life.
"She was so down to earth. I remember her saying sausages were her favourite food."
Princess Margaret left her purse behind on one occasion, according to Jack.
"She was tiny and lovely. Lovely eyes," says Netta.
Most of the city's movers and shakers were regulars down the 50 years Jack worked at the Central.
The Glasgow philanthropist and founder of Red Hackle whisky, Charles Hepburn, would bring his wife for dinner every Friday.
"A space was kept for his car. When it drew up, the porter would usher them inside for a drink.
"Luigi the maitre d' would stand at the top of the stairs and when it came to 8pm he would signal to the band and they would play the March of the Cameron Men and Mrs Hepburn would take her husband's arm and they would march in to their table."
 Jack was defined as much by his work at the Central as by his marriage and subsequent life with his wife Netta |  |  | ||
To Jack and indeed to many of the guests, Luigi Balzaretti, the maitre d' of the Malmaison, was a bigger star than all the rest.
"He had a marvellous face and a great deal of personality. He was honoured by the Italian government for his work in catering and yet, he never worked in Italy."
After Luigi retired, Rangers drew Milan in the European Cup and two of the club's officials went to see him.
"There was Luigi sitting reading his paper as if he was at home. They said they had tickets to take him to the match but he said I can't do that. It's my dominos night'!"
The artist Joan Eardley, famed for her paintings of Glasgow street urchins and seascapes, was a regular.
"She was always in a group and very popular," says Jack.
"We had a painting of hers in the bar for years of a wee boy sitting on a stool. We knew it was worth a lot and I often wonder who got it when they broke up the place.
"It was amazing how many people came into the bar, not to buy a drink, but to ask to have a look at the painting."
Jack was a modest man. "They wanted to call it Jack's Bar, but he wouldn't have it," says Netta proudly. "And he had 20 offers of being hotel manager in different places but he wouldn't budge.
"It was Jack's job, but it was his social life as well."
Jack took redundancy in 1983 when the Central was bought over, but he wasn't ready to retire and became head barman at Gleneagles, where he stayed till he was 77, talking golf with the likes of Denis Thatcher.
"Jack had something that made people confide in him," says Netta. "He was able to remember customers. Even if people came in only once a year, he would still remember what they drank."
Jack was a slick operator. "As a bartender, he would walk out with drinks and clear up on the way back - you'd hardly see him do it," says his daughter Eleanor.
"Now, he's the worst customer you can get. He can't stand bad service. You can see him sitting there seething."
Jack grins. "When you had big parties and they were all in for a drink before dinner, it was quite encouraging to hear someone say get the wee fella; he'll be quicker'."
