The times I probably should’ve been fired by the BBC
Henry Blofeld on some of the career-threatening remarks he wishes he’d never made
Political correctness does not always take common sense into account. On the other hand, there have certainly been occasions when I have found myself saying things I wish I hadn’t. In one of the early matches I covered at Durham, I’m afraid I made an extremely crass remark on air. I can’t remember why, but we were talking about putting on weight. I had recently seen my doctor in London and he had pointed a finger at my steadily increasing girth. He said, in the sanctity of his surgery, that it was a good idea to eat rather less and underlined his point by saying that there were not many fat people in Belsen.
I can hardly believe it, but I came out with this story at Durham. Mike Gatting, who was sitting beside me in the summariser’s chair, instantly looked round at those behind him and clearly did not know what he should say, before vigorously shaking his head in mystified horror. I also remember Mark Saggers, who had been commentating for us, wagging a formidable finger in my direction, too. Oh dear – the more I thought about it, the worse it sounded and it resulted in some agitated telephone calls.
For a while I got the feeling that I was now definitely part of the castle not normally shown to visitors. I often wondered later what my old BBC boss, Henry Riddell, would have made of it. Maybe, in those distant days, he would have simply shrugged his shoulders, but I suspect he would have prepared himself for our final interview. As it was, I was mercifully not cast into the outer darkness I probably deserved.
While I am on the subject of career-threatening bloomers, I had better get the other stinker out of my system. England were playing the West Indies at Headingley. Cardigan Road runs behind the ground in the north-east corner. There is a row of formidable red-brick Victorian houses on the Headingley side of the road, some way back from the cricket. For that match, two of the houses had turned their adjoining balconies into a stand for their friends, and there was quite a gathering.
I took listeners on my usual journey round the ground and mentioned this impromptu stand. I speculated that the ticket price was small. Then I likened it to Eden Park in Auckland where I remembered a balcony being used in the same way. I knew that the stand in Auckland had been given a jokey name which suggested cutprice tickets. I thought it would be a suitable name for this stand at Headingley. Suddenly I found myself calling it “the Jewish Stand”.
This time, there was an immediate shocked, eerie silence in the box. Bill Frindall was never quiet for long on such occasions and he made a few short and meaningful comments. Otherwise my fellow commentators just looked at me, and there was some uncomfortable fidgeting. I knew I had got it wrong, but as my mind raced I could not work out why they had used that name in Auckland and got away with it. Then it came to me. At Eden Park it was actually known as “the Scottish Stand”. I realised the magnitude of my folly. Our producer Peter Baxter was not at all happy, while Christopher Martin-jenkins just shook his head silently and sorrowfully.
After I had handed over to the next commentator and stood up, I could see that my colleagues were looking the other way. After much discussion I was told by Baxter that I must apologise on air, which I did in my next spell. Telephone calls poured in from the bosses back in London and, of course, complaints followed from listeners. I have never been good at handling things like this.
I soon realised that my excuse over Eden Park in Auckland did not have much to commend it either. If I had called it “the Scottish Stand”, how would those on the other side of Hadrian’s Wall have taken the news? A flurry of tossed cabers perhaps. I have never been remotely antisemitic, but as with my effort at Riverside, I had plunged in without giving it enough thought. It was not until the words were out of my mouth that I began to realise what I had really said and what the consequences might be. Obviously there was going to be a lengthy and, for me, extremely uncomfortable inquest.
It was not a laughing matter, but later on there was one amusing follow-up, though it didn’t seem funny at the time. I had made my gaffe during the morning session. The unpleasant faxes began to arrive almost straight away and they continued for the rest of the day. Thank goodness emails did not exist – if they had, it doesn’t bear thinking about what might have turned up. It was getting on for tea when Baxter thrust yet another long fax into my hand. This one accused me of causing racial hatred, of having a mindset like an old-fashioned colonial and a number of other unpleasant things besides. I was horrified to read the signature. It had been sent by the Chief Rabbi.
I was really worried now. I asked Baxter for his advice and then settled down with some BBC paper and a pen to write a profound letter of apology and sent it to the Chief Rabbi’s fax number. I did not enjoy the rest of the day one little bit. I was made to feel guilty as charged, which indeed I was. I hardly slept a wink all night.
The next day I drove to Headingley and settled down in the box to read the newspaper. For that match David “Bluey” Bairstow was in our number two box as the expert helping Pat Murphy with the coverage for Radio 5 Live. Bluey now appeared waving a piece of paper vaguely in my direction.
“Look what I found in my fax machine when I got home last night.”
He showed it to one or two of the others first and they began to laugh. Then he gave it to me and I found myself reading the message I had sent, shamefaced, the evening before to the Chief Rabbi. Bluey had been the “Chief Rabbi” all along. I could have hit him over the head, but I was so relieved that I burst out laughing.
When I returned to Headingley the following year for the Test against Pakistan, a large sheet of white cloth was hanging from one of these same two balconies. It proclaimed in bold capital letters, “HENRY BLOFELD IS GOD”. I cannot imagine the two events were in anyway connected.