An Evening with Johnners (7 page)

‘Yes,’ he’d say, ‘I can see the flags there on Duke’s meadow. Oxford are just going up, about a length ahead. No, I see Cambridge are coming up now.’ He used to do his commentary from those flags.

When he retired, they had a leaving party for him and someone said, ‘That chap over there is the man who works the flags at Duke’s Meadow.’

‘Oh,’ said John, ‘I’ll go and talk to him.’

He went over to the chap, who didn’t recognise him, and John said, ‘Look, you’re the man who does these flags. How on earth do you do it? You must have a tremendous
knowledge about rowing. You’re so accurate, you get the exact distance and everything.’

‘Oh,’ the chap said, ‘it’s quite easy. I listen to John Snagge on the radio!’

O
ne other thing about the Boat Race. John and I were on the towpath one Friday before the race. We’d gone to watch the crews, and a lady came up to us and said, ‘Oh, do tell me something. I’m very keen on the Boat Race. I’ve been coming for thirty years and I shall be on the towpath again tomorrow. But tell me one thing. Why are the same two teams always in the final?’

T
hen, of course, things are said wrong on the air; a lot to do with royalty, funnily enough. Max Robertson once, at the Guildhall, said, ‘Here comes the Queen of Norway wearing an off-the-hat face.’

Audrey Russell said, ‘The Queen Mother is looking very lovely in dark black,’ which is an interesting colour.

Stuart Hibberd was known as ‘The Golden Voice’, and I think he used to do them on purpose. There was a chap called Ernest Lush, who would play the piano in an interlude if a programme underran, and Stuart said once, ‘Now there will be an interlush from Ernest Lude!’

They would go to the Pump Room at Bath for chamber music and, inevitably, Stuart said, ‘We’re now going over to the bathroom at Pump!’

At the opening of Parliament once, they cued over to Henry Riddell, who was one of the commentators, and he said, ‘I’m sorry but you’re too late. The Queen’s just gone round the bend!’

Y
ou see, I said an awful lot of stories were to do with royalty, and there are two about them I must tell you.

About twenty-five years ago we used to do a radio programme called
Sporting Chance
. We would go to all the forces all over the world, when we had them then, and on one occasion we were with the Royal Air Force in Germany. We did this sporting quiz with them, and then they asked me if I would like to go around the hospital.

So I went round with the Commanding Officer and talked to the various men and when we came to one ward, the officer said, ‘A marvellous thing happened here about four months ago. The Queen Mother came. She went all down the ward, talking to everybody, and she came to a chap who was writhing in pain on the bed. She said, “What’s wrong with you, my man?”

‘“Ma’am, I’m in terrible pain,” he said. “I’ve got the most awful boil on my bum.”

‘“Ooh,” she said, “I hope it doesn’t hurt,” and was absolutely sweet; never turned a hair and was very sympathetic.

‘She passed down the ward, saw the other people and left. And, of course, when she’d gone, the sister came back and gave this chap a tremendous bollocking.

‘“How dare you talk like that in front of royalty. Make something up; say you’ve sprained your ankle, or anything, but never use a word like that again.”

‘“Sorry, sister,” he said, “I realise I shouldn’t have done it. I’ll never do it again.”

‘Unfortunately for him, a few weeks later Princess Margaret came out to inspect one of her Highland Regiments. She went down the ward and came to this chap and said, “What’s wrong with you?”

‘He remembered what he had promised the sister and he kept his word.

‘“Ma’am, I’m in terrible pain,” he said. “I’ve sprained my ankle.”

‘“Oh,” said the Princess, “the boil on your bum is better, is it?”’

Y
ou know what happens when a visiting President or King comes to stay at Buckingham Palace. They fly to Gatwick, where the Duke of Kent meets them on the
royal train; they come to Victoria and their door opens slap opposite the red carpet.

The Queen greets them and presents the royal family and the Cabinet, and then the Queen and the President go out to the forecourt, where the Queen’s company of Grenadier Guards presents arms.

The national anthems are played and the President inspects the Guard of Honour. Then he and the Queen get into an open Victoria carriage and they clip clop back to Buckingham Palace, drawn by six Windsor Greys. Prince Philip and the wife get into one behind.

This happened some time ago, I’m assured, and all the procedure went exactly as planned: the royal train, the greetings, the bands playing and the Guard of Honour. Then the President and the Queen got into the open Victoria carriage and off went the six Windsor Greys.

The Queen was waving as they went along Buckingham Palace Road, and so was the President, when unfortunately one of the Windsor Greys let out a rather rude noise.

‘Sorry about that,’ said the Queen.

‘Ah,’ the President said. ‘The honesty of you British. Had you not apologised, I would have thought it was one of the horses!’ 

I
told you that I used to do these things on
In Town Tonight
when I described the train. This was because
In Town Tonight
in the late forties and fifties was the top programme of them all, including television, because television couldn’t be seen outside London until 1950. So there were very few television viewers and there used to be twenty-two million listeners every Saturday night to
In Town Tonight.

Anybody who was anybody, who came into London – politicians, film stars, businessmen – appeared on the programme. They were interviewed by John Ellison in the studio, but it was all very stilted because the whole thing was scripted. For instance, if a Mrs Smith had done something and was being interviewed, John would say, ‘How are you, Mrs Smith?’

‘I’m feeling very well, thank you, Mr Ellison.’

‘Where do you come from?’

‘I come from Hemel Hempstead.’

She read it straight out and it was very dull. So Peter Duncan, the producer, thought they would break this up with a three or four minute live spot in the middle of the programme, either funny or exciting. They asked me to do it, and I did one hundred and fifty of them over four years. It was on most Saturdays and every night was a ‘first night’, because if it is live – that is, at the time and not recorded – you can’t say, ‘Sorry, I’ll do that again.’ You had to get it right.

T
he very first one was from the Chamber of Horrors at Madame Tussauds. I was given a chair and a very dim light and I sat alone, surrounded by Smith, the Brides in the Bath murderer, Mahon the Trunk murderer, and Dr Crippen, and it was terrifying. I was all alone and silent. I tried walking around and the floorboards creaked and something hit me on the head – it was a hangman’s rope!

Then, when I went to sit down, I heard a strange noise and I thought it was them, but it wasn’t: it was the tube running underneath. It was very frightening. I was only there on
In Town Tonight
for four minutes, but I stayed up until midnight. So it was a very eerie experience, and I’ve never been down the Chamber of Horrors since.

I
did all sorts of things. I was very keen on the theatre so I went up on stage with the Crazy Gang during one of their shows. They invited me to take part as the victim in their Barber Shop sketch. I sat down and they poured coloured dyes all over me; they put soap down my mouth and poured water on me. I had to keep talking all the time because the audience were roaring with laughter so much. It made no sense and I could hardly speak with the soap in my mouth, but it was great fun to do.

They were marvellous to work with, except you had to be a bit careful around them. Bud Flanagan was a great,
warm-hearted comedian but he did practical jokes all the time. Jack Hylton, who presented their shows, used to go off racing in the daytime. So he always kept a smart city suit hung up in Bud Flanagan’s dressing room, and when he came back in the evening he would change into it, before going round the theatres to see his other shows.