Danny LaRue, R.I.P.

No one does an obit better than the Telegraph, which I cannot recommend highly enough:

With his dazzling coiffures, extravagant costumes, immaculate make-up, fitted eyelashes, blonde peek-a-boo wig and high heels, La Rue — tall and handsome — brought an air of amiable and poised self-mockery to clubs, cabarets, variety halls and summer shows for nearly 40 years.

Beneath huge headdresses and decked out in sequin-studded gowns, La Rue in his heyday would don specially-designed creations of beaded pink lace and tulle with trains of ostrich feathers up to 20ft long. Thus glorified, he became one of the best-loved professional cross-dressers of his time.

But throughout his career, La Rue took every opportunity of stressing that he was nothing more than a “fella in a frock”. Despite admitting that dressing as Shirley Bassey or Dorothy Squires “wasn’t natural really”, La Rue was at pains to point out that he never did anything “tasteless, never anything offensive”. This view was perhaps not shared by Princess Margaret who, on a backstage visit to the number one dressing room, knocked on the door only to have a stark naked La Rue throw it open and shout “Piss off!”

“I was mortified,” La Rue later recalled, “I thought she was Peter Sellers messing about.”