September 12, 1925
Memories of genial Tom Bush and the old “Bee” Hotel (by Victor Hall).
Sometimes a face, or a well-remembered name, drops out of prominence for a while, and then one recalls with a pang that there is someone, or something missing, whose place, somehow, does not seem to be adequately filled.
You may no notice the empty place for a while, but when you do you will become increasingly amazed at how much one man, or one personality, has meant to you in a particular niche of memory or association.
Such a thought occurs when one recalls the interest centred round the personality of Tom Bush, one time of the Bee Hotel.
I suppose in certain Bohemian circles in Liverpool – for over twenty-five years in Liverpool – no name commanded greater personal esteem, one might say affection, than that of the popular host who for so long presided over the destinies of the Bee Hotel in Liverpool.
A good turn
In masonic, in operatic, in theatrical, and certainly in football circles, there was no more engaging personality than that of the genial “Tom,” whose very smile was a welcome and whose handshake was a passport to all that was hospitable in Liverpool’s “Bohemia.”
I first recall Mr. Bush a many years ago in the days when he was fast enthroning himself in that seat of charitable hospitality that later he so well adorned. There was no call to charity or benevolence in Liverpool that found in him a deaf appeal.
To all worthy causes he lent the warm approval of a generous nature, but the shiftless or unworthy found in him no less a stern judge and enemy of humbug.
It was in theatrical matters, however, that he earned and deserved his greatest esteem.
For many years he was the only choice of the committee of the Theatrical Football Galas as honorary treasurer, and in all matter of theatre or opera he was the official disburser of public and private charity. No name carried greater weight or public confidence than that of “Tom,” nor was any public man in sporting circles held in greater esteem.
In football matters, for many years the League meetings in Liverpool were held at the “Bee,” and most of the League teams playing matches in Liverpool stayed at the “Bee.”
Here prominent players were sure to be found whenever they passed through Liverpool, and here, too, many a great player has put his signature to a League professional form.
Here stayed Sunderland, Aston Villa, Newcastle United, and those giant teams of the game, here came their committees and their managers, and their hosts of the morrow to meet them. In the private dining rooms upstairs inter-league teams and international teams breakfasted before the games, and dined after the games that made – or broke – many a reputation, and for all of them Tom Bush was the smiling, genial, attentive host.
I have seen a team of Scotsmen who had not been in Liverpool for a year rush to “Tom” on arrival and greet him as a long lost brother, and I have seen him greeting them – each by a well-remembered name – as if Liverpool had stood still since their last visit a year ago.
Such was the personality and charm of those old managers who made their business their pleasure, and not a wearied task.
And if this was the charm of the Football Association of dear “old Tom” what can be said of his influence on the theatrical world during the years in which he so admirably represented the fortunes of matters musical and theatrical here.
There was probably no place outside London where you would be more sure to meet a star, than in the “Snug” at the Bee – one time or another.
There was no more welcome host or hostess than Tom and his well-esteemed wife, and there was no more quoted hostelry in Liverpool whenever the “gags” of pantomine were let loose, than the famous “Bee” Hotel.
Everyone of fame, in theatre or opera, met there, and everyone considered it an honour to have his photograph there enshrined.
When the house changed hands the number of framed photographs was a positive anxiety.
And what names?
To quote but a few of them would be but to catalogue the names of history.
Irving, Toole, Hare, Bancroft, Tree, Terris, all left their mark and their portrait, and with them every other name that has adorned the stage for over fifty years.
Gone are the fireside stories and the “greengage” yarns, re-echo of a popular refrain, and the trill of the high soprano; all have passed, with the laughter of the chorus ladies and the gentlemen of the orchestra.
Gone, too, are the trainers and the internationals of old who passed the “night before” and the “night after” under its hospitable roof, and with them is gone the genial presence that made “Tom Bush” and the Bee” the hub of all things good in sport in Liverpool.
(Source: Liverpool Echo: September 12, 1925)
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