The mid-1970s British charts were a chaotic, glittering tapestry. You might find the raw bombast of glam rock sitting next to an earnest singer-songwriter, or the sleek production of disco vying for attention against a heartfelt ballad. Yet, among the sequins and the serious artistic statements, a particularly distinct phenomenon thrived: the comedy record. In the summer of 1975, this trend reached its pinnacle—or perhaps its most surreal moment—when two actors, portraying a perpetually put-upon Gunner and a bellowing Battery Sergeant Major from a BBC sitcom, landed themselves a number-one hit. This piece of music, an unlikely pop culture lightning strike, was the gently melancholic, yet distinctly comedic, cover of “Whispering Grass (Don’t Tell The Trees)” by Don Estelle and Windsor Davies.
The song is inextricably linked to the sitcom It Ain’t Half Hot Mum, a show set in a British Army concert party in India and Burma during the Second World War. Don Estelle played the diminutive, sensitive Gunner “Lofty” Sugden, possessing a surprisingly rich tenor voice. Windsor Davies was his foil, the formidable, shouty, and distinctly Welsh Battery Sergeant Major Williams. The recording captured this dynamic perfectly, essentially translating their on-screen chemistry directly to the grooves of a 7-inch vinyl record.
The creative kernel for this success was the album It Ain’t Half Hot Mum, released on the EMI label. The single itself, officially titled “Windsor Davies as B.S.M. Williams and Don Estelle as Gunner Sugden (Lofty) – Whispering Grass,” was the primary focus, released in April 1975. The song, an old standard first made famous by The Ink Spots in 1940, had been a cabaret staple for Estelle. Producer Walter J. Ridley wisely understood that for the record to truly resonate and capitalize on their television fame, it couldn’t be a straight cover; it needed the dramatic tension of the sitcom’s stars.
The Sound of Nostalgia and Comedy
When you put the needle down on this 1975 single, you are immediately transported to a softer, more orchestrated world. The arrangement, crafted for maximum nostalgic effect, features a gentle rhythm section and a pervasive, lilting melody driven by Richard Leonard’s delicate piano work. It is an exercise in restraint, save for the sudden intrusions of pure comedy. The central focus is, of course, the vocal performance.
Estelle’s voice is genuinely spectacular. His tenor is clear, pure, and possesses a lovely, almost trembling vibrato, perfectly suited to the sentimental quality of the 1940s melody. He delivers the song’s romantic verses—pleading with the grass not to reveal a secret kiss—with utter conviction and sincerity. This is the heart of the song, the straightforward, emotional core that many listeners found genuinely moving.
The sonic landscape is clean, recorded at the legendary Abbey Road Studios. The production by Ridley is deliberately warm, emphasizing the close-mic’d intimacy of Estelle’s vocal performance. The backing is filled out by the rich, understated harmonies of The Mike Sammes Singers, providing a smooth vocal counterpoint to Estelle’s lead. There’s no electric guitar solo or dramatic drum fill to be found; this piece of music relies on traditional orchestration.
Then, the mood shatters, but in the most carefully calculated way.
At key moments, Windsor Davies’ unmistakable, thunderous baritone crashes into the proceedings. “Quiet! You Promised Me, Green Grass,” he barks, a perfect, in-character interruption that snaps the listener out of the gentle reverie. This spoken-word dialogue is the comedic mechanism, a foil for Estelle’s earnestness, and the element that guaranteed the record’s mass appeal to the millions watching the sitcom. Davies couldn’t sing, so his contribution was to play his part—the authoritarian sergeant major demanding silence and discipline, even from the flora. It’s an exercise in contrast: the delicate, private emotion of the song against the public, overbearing nature of the military character. The single was a cultural moment, driven by television exposure, yet sustained by a genuinely beautiful vocal performance buried within a comedic wrapper.
The Career Arc and Cultural Resonance
For Don Estelle, this chart success was a long-awaited moment of mainstream recognition for his powerful voice. He was a trained singer who, through a twist of fate, found fame via a character defined by his physical size and sweet nature. Whispering Grass allowed him to showcase his talent, albeit with the necessary humorous hook. The single propelled the associated studio album, Sing Lofty, which was recorded swiftly to capitalize on the single’s momentum.
For Windsor Davies, the record cemented his career arc in the mid-70s as a comic authority figure, a role he would replicate in other forms, including appearances in the Carry On films around the same time. His celebrity in 1975 was undeniable, a ubiquitous presence whose deep Welsh bellow was instantly recognizable. The single perfectly blended their individual strengths—Estelle’s vocal ability and Davies’ comic persona—into a commercially potent package.
The song’s success cannot be overstated. Released in April 1975, it quickly ascended the UK Singles Chart, achieving a number-one position for multiple weeks. This success demonstrated a powerful appetite for nostalgic, often comforting, melodies in the public consciousness, particularly those connected to beloved television personalities. While music critics of the time might have dismissed it as pure novelty, its widespread popularity suggests a deeper connection for a segment of the audience.
This track is an intriguing case study in music marketing, an example of how celebrity and context can breathe new life into an older song. The song succeeded precisely because it was not aiming for the cutting edge, instead tapping into a shared cultural memory and a fondness for light entertainment.
Echoes in Modern Listening
Revisiting “Whispering Grass” today, especially when listening on high-quality premium audio equipment, reveals the subtle textures of that era’s studio sound. The depth of the backing vocals and the clear attack of the piano notes are surprisingly well-preserved, lending the recording an almost cinematic feel, despite its comedic intent.
Consider the modern listener who might encounter this song, perhaps via a curated music streaming subscription playlist of ‘70s hits. They might not know the context of the Burmese concert party. They hear the initial, beautiful vocal, the rich, almost crooning delivery, and then, the jarring, military-style shout.
“It is a testament to Estelle’s commitment that his performance manages to maintain its romantic integrity even when deliberately juxtaposed with a comic interruption.”
Imagine a father, who grew up watching the sitcom, sharing this track with his daughter. He laughs at BSM Williams’ interjections; she, meanwhile, is captivated by the timeless, rich tone of Estelle’s singing. The song becomes a bridge, a shared laugh over an improbable hit from a bygone era. Another listener, perhaps practicing their piano lessons, might be drawn to the classic, simple chord progressions that underpin the melody, realizing that beneath the laughter lies a finely crafted, if sentimental, structure. There’s a beautiful simplicity here that modern, often over-produced, pop can lack. The absence of an overt rock arrangement, and specifically the lack of a prominent guitar riff or driving beat, forces attention squarely onto the voices and the melody.
The song’s enduring charm lies in its total lack of irony regarding the vocal performance, even as the narrative context screams “joke.” Don Estelle’s singing is sincere; the comic element comes entirely from the character-driven frame provided by Davies. It’s a nostalgic nod to the 1940s, filtered through the specific sensibilities of the 1970s light entertainment machine. For a brief, shining moment, the absurd warmth of a popular sitcom was converted into musical gold, proving that sometimes, the biggest hits are those that make you smile.
Listening Recommendations
- The Ink Spots – “Whispering Grass (Don’t Tell The Trees)” (1940): The original, definitive version, showcasing the classic mid-century vocal group sound and spoken interlude.
- The New Seekers – “I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing (In Perfect Harmony)” (1971): A comparable example of a wholesome, simple melody capturing a brief moment of massive public affection.
- Benny Hill – “Ernie (The Fastest Milkman In The West)” (1971): Another UK comedy number one from the era, relying on spoken, character-based narrative and a simple pop chorus.
- Ken Dodd – “Tears” (1965): A similar instance of a British comedian or light entertainer scoring a sentimental, yet hugely popular, chart-topper.
- The Mike Sammes Singers – (Any work by the group): For the rich, smooth, and distinct backing vocal texture that underpins many popular British recordings of the period.
- Joe Longthorne – “Mary in the Morning” (1989): Represents a similar style of warm, traditional, highly-vibratoed tenor vocal delivery on a classic pop standard.