Gyles Brandreth’s Diary
Where else could I work with Barbara Windsor and Basil Brush?
The Theatre Royal, Windsor, checked out my availability for panto this Christmas. The role on offer was Carabosse, the villainess in Sleeping Beauty. Had I been available, I might have said yes because I am quite comfortable in a stylish frock and I’d have been co-starring with Basil Brush, one of my childhood heroes.
Basil is a glove puppet, a feisty, fruity-voiced fox, created in 1963 by Peter Firmin, now in his ninetieth year (and the genius who also gave us Noggin the Nog, Ivor the Engine, Bagpuss and The Clangers, but still doesn’t have even an OBE), and the late, great Ivan Owen, who provided Basil’s glorious voice until his death in 2000. Ivan told me he had modelled Basil’s voice and persona on his favourite actor, Terry-thomas, in the hope that in so doing the character would appeal to adults as well as children. The strategy worked.
When I was last in panto, it was Cinderella. I played Baron Hardup, Barbara Windsor played the Fairy Godmother and Ray Alan and Lord Charles were the Brokers’ Men.
‘You get two for the price of one with us,’ said Ray.
He was one of those ventriloquists who was quite unabashed when you saw his lips move. Lord Charles was a monocled silly-ass toff of the old school. With his floppy limbs and painted wooden head, the doll wasn’t remotely life-like but, if you stood outside Ray’s dressing room, you could hear the pair of them gossiping together like an old married couple. It was quite touching.
Pantomime, of course, is Britain’s only unique contribution to world culture. Opera, ballet, puppetry, they happen all over the place. Notwithstanding its origins in the Italian commedia dell’arte tradition, you only find panto as we know it in the British Isles and odd outposts of the Empire (such as Australia and Jamaica). With cross-dressing, slapstick and sentimentality, it’s an extraordinary form of entertainment that for more than two hundred years has been the one guaranteed Christmas money-spinner for theatres across the land.
We ought to celebrate panto more than we do. There is a statue to Lord Byron in Athens, but where is the monument to his forgotten cousin? Henry James Byron was a Victorian actor and playwright whose unrecognised claims to fame include creating the characters of both Buttons in Cinderella (1860) and Widow Twankey in Aladdin (1861). Lord B (now largely unread) is there in Poets’ Corner, but who knows about HJB, one of the true heroes of British popular culture?
The Victoria & Albert Museum has a wonderful collection of pantomime material and memorabilia, most of it hidden in its vaults. It’s high time they staged a major exhibition honouring the nation’s most successful form of live entertainment. Oh yes, it is.
If you have not yet decided which charity to support this Christmas, may I suggest an unlikely one? The Sir Edward Heath Charitable Foundation needs money to maintain and enhance Arundells, the beautiful house in Salisbury Cathedral Close that the former prime minister left to the nation when he died in 2005.
It’s been a rough couple of years for Ted’s ghost. Heath was the man who took us into Europe and Brexit has undone his life’s work. To add injury to insult, the Wiltshire Police have been doing their best to ruin his posthumous reputation by suggesting the old boy was both a rapist and a serial paedophile. Beyond the wild assertions of a discredited criminal fantasist, there is no evidence of any kind to justify the police’s claims, nor the £1.4 million plus they have spent on their investigations. But, inevitably, some folk think, ‘No smoke without fire’, and fund-raising in Ted’s name has not been easy of late.
I first met him in 1968 when I was a student and he was Leader of the Opposition. Belonging to a generation of prep school boys accustomed to rebuffing (or enduring) the advances of choirmasters, I know the type – and Ted Heath wasn’t one of them. Socially awkward, he was good company once you got to know him. Safe, too.
I relished my visits to Arundells. Ted was a generous host and always offered you a post-prandial Cuban cigar. ‘Fidel Castro sends them to me at Christmas,’ he’d explain. ‘Fidel’s a good man, underrated and much misunderstood.’
You could say the same for Ted and if, like me, you believe the accused should be regarded as innocent until proven guilty, in the name of fair play you can make a seasonal contribution to his charity via www.arundells.org
’Tis the season to be jolly, and I am out almost every night singing for my supper at corporate gigs. I enjoy them because, invariably, I find myself seated next to someone with a tale to tell. Three nights ago, I met a man making millions selling tattoo ink. Twenty-three per cent of the UK population sport tattoos. Two nights ago I sat next to a construction engineer who collects steam trains. He owns two 1930s locos, The Princess Margaret Rose and The Duchess of Sutherland. He told me that ours is the only country in the world where, when a steam train passes by, people stop and wave.
Last night, at the Faculty of General Dental Practice annual dinner, I met an elderly orthodontist who keeps a photo of John Betjeman in his wallet.
‘He’s my hero,’ he murmured, his eyes pricking with tears. ‘Why?’ I enquired. ‘Because when he was asked if he had any regrets in life, Betjeman replied, “Not enough sex.” He spoke for us all.’
Follow Gyles on Twitter: @Gylesb1w