My father was the secretary of a workingmen's club. It was a post decided by vote of the membership but I suppose you could argue that the responsibility conferred on him somehow confirmed him as middle class.
I don't think my dad ever forgave me for persuading him to put Johnny Handle on one Sunday.
The event drew a good sized crowd, but virtually none of them listened to a word, song or tune of the great man throughout his first half. Then we realised why they were there even though they had no interest in the music; the concert hall fell silent for the bingo and once it was over everyone disappeared downstairs, leaving Johnny to play out his second set to a handful of people - those there with me. North-eastern working class men wanted nothing to do with one of their own singing and telling very funny stories about their lives, traditions and struggles.