Test Match Special - #40from40: Roy Hudd OBE

Episode Date: April 30, 2020

The final 'View from the Boundary' conducted by the legendary Brian Johnston as he's joined by comedian Roy Hudd in 1993.

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Boundary on BBC Sounds. Hello, welcome to another edition of Classic View from the Boundary with me, Jonathan Agnew. For the last 25 years or so, I've been the regular presenter of the feature on TestMatch Special, but before me, it was very much the domain of the late great Brian Johnston. His warmth, humour and ability to bring out the best in his guests is something that all broadcasters should learn from. But none of us knew it at the time, August 21, 1993, would see Brian's final view from the boundary interview, as he chatted to the comedian, actor and playwright Roy Hudd at the Oval.

This interview contains every element of what made Johners so special. My guest today is someone, millions of you here frequently on the radio in News Hudline, but to me he's the last bastion, if I may use the word, of music hall. Pardon? What was that? I listen to my pronunciation. Yes, you really must. He's a great supporter of the music hall, but also he loves cricket, which is his reason for sitting in the box here with us today.

Roy Hudders to me. Let's deal with your cricket first. Were you ever a player? Well, I was never really a player, and I did play two years ago. I played for our team at the Open Air Theatre Regents Park, and I'm sending for that tie. You started a bit late in life, didn't you was? Yes, yeah, out first ball.

Primary club. Definitely, I shall have one of those ties before they go. I wore my outfit that I wore as bow. bottom in a Midsummer Night's dream for the batting and we were playing the Regents Park Police and they didn't think that was particularly funny so the first ball went whistling down out

thank you very much that you have supported and watched cricket for many years it's many years since I've been to the Oval because this is my team sorry you know but I got here this morning and what a wonderful surprise the first person I saw when I walked in was a man when he used to come in about we used to say here comes the

question mark and it was Raman's summer row because he used to look exactly like a question mark when he walked in. So those were the days, I mean, you supported Surrey when they were winning, winning, winning. When they were terrific in those. And funny enough, I don't know if he, does he still run his cricket school, Alf Gover? No, Alf sold it, no, some time ago. He's still alive and kicking.

Good lad, yeah. He gave us some great joy. He was a great person. But any other particularly heroes of that Surrey side? I think it was Stuart Surridge, of course. A great figure, a leader. Absolutely, you know. And we saw lots of good games here. And my hero of all time really was Godfrey Evans, though.

No, Goddust, yes. Wonderful character. Look marvellous, didn't he? And couldn't he keep working? Couldn't he thump him about a bit? Yeah, he'd been great on the stage, wouldn't he? He was a Dickensian character, isn't it? Yeah.

Was then? Terrific stuff. What do you think of cricket today? I mean, you follow it, do you? I've enjoyed this, like mad, isn't it? This has been our finest hour, isn't it, right? Well, it has, indeed. It was Australia's finest our first thing,

and now we scored England, we've scored six runs and over, which is sensational. Well, yesterday and today, terrific. What a terrific day's cricket yesterday. It really was, wasn't it? It was a wonderful day's good. It had everything. You live now up as Clappers, I mean... Clappers, I live.

Have you always been a Londoner like that? Yes, I live almost opposite, Willers, you know. Willis. Did you? Yes, yes. That's right, you can see the window. Well, I do see him on Sunday morning, so he's very generous, you know, Bob. I see him nearly every Sunday morning when he's at home, raising his glass of Australian wine, the swine.

What about that, then? It's loyal, isn't it? It doesn't making you to come and share this. Never does, no, but he always raises it to me as I walk by, which is like on my way round to the pub. Yeah. And so, how did you start? I mean, you were born? Yes, I was, Brian.

Roughly. He's like lightning old John is he 1936 you were born He didn't start in show business Until he were 21 something That's right And butters Or were the buttling

Yes I was a redcoat At Buckling's That's right yeah I started that I came up I was You know Did lots of shows in the Boys Club And then in the RAF

I did lots of shows as well And then I went to Buttling's as a redcoat And I thought I was going to be a comic We got there And they said well actually Your Redcoat End to Tainers, which was eight quid a week we got, which meant you did all the shows as well

as, you know, taking all the kids to the fed. It was an incredible way to start in the business, as a summer season there. In the next charlake to me was a chap called Dave O'Marnie, who was a very funny guy's of redcoat, and he eventually changed his name to Dave Allen, who was a red coat there. So it wasn't a bad season.

What sort of thing do you do? Do you have a double act or something then? I did a double up with another chap, yeah. We did our sort of shows there. But as I say, most of the time, it was running about, you know, doing all the jobs. But I did see you, because I read about, at one time, before Pepsi were a red coat, you were a sugar shoveler. Now, what on earth is a sugar shoveler?

It's a difficult one. You noticed I took care. What is a sugar shoveler? It was at Paines Chocolate factory in Croyd. It was just really shoveling the sugar into the things to make the Pines Poppets. I did that. I did all sorts of things. I was a commercial artist, basically, that's why I tried that.

But when I went into the RAF, you know, between me going into the RAF and leaving the RAF, I was a lettering artist, you know, and some swine invented letter-a-set, you know, that rubbed down lettering. So that was the end of my career as a commercial artist. We can say you were letterist, were you at that time? Oh, a very letter, yes. Did you ever go and do a sort of stand-up straight comic in the musicals? I mean, they were slipping away then. There weren't many around.

the world. I think I'm quite sort of well known for actually closing more variety theatres and anybody else in the history of show business, I think. I came in to the business really proper as half of a double act in the late 50s, of course, when all the musicals and variety theatres were closing, which was a very sad time. But I really did. I mean, we used to play them on Saturday night, and on Sunday morning they used to put the bad looks on the doors. It really was the end of variety. Which of the great ones do you see? Because I'm lucky. I I probably saw them all new. I saw quite a few, you know, Brian,

because my grain used to take me to the Croydon Empire when I was just after the war, when I was a little boy. And so I saw lots of people there, and it was an interesting time to go to variety just after the war, you know, because you still saw G.H. Eliot, Randolph Suck, and Hetty King and people like this.

They were all coming to the ends of their careers, but there were lots of young performers that were just starting. Harry Seekam, Max Bygraves, Bruce Forsyth. Frankie Hart. That's right. All those people were just beginning. So it was a terrific period to be introduced to the Variety Theatre.

But you see, I think you know about me. I'm not so keen on the old-time variety. I'm the 30s, chap. Well, you are, because you're much younger than I. Right. Thank you. But I was lucky to see, you know, the Millers and the Flanigans and Allens and the Hutchies and all these people. I saw quite a few of those, you know, because they did carry on until well into the 50s,

particularly about Flanagan, of course, and the crazy gang. Particularly we saw those. my grand we should take me to the Victoria Palace because it was on the train from Croydon you know he's Croydon to Victoria just walk across the road and we used to see them and people used to say to my grandma it's dreadful you taking him to see those dirty old

devils up there you know and she said no well her great theory was the secret was they used to say it's all these dirty old men running about doing sketches chasing women and she used to say well the great secret is they never catch them she was absolutely correct so did you ever actually meet them then

I met Bud quite a lot because I just joined the Grand Order of Water Rats and Bud was of course still very much an important part of it

and I remember going to see Bud at the Victoria Palace in their would have been their last show and going backstage to see him

and being introduced to him and all this sort of stuff which is marvellous and he said would you want a souvenir and I said yes I'd love one you know he said

he went and he took his straw hat off his head and gave it to me and I said well what are you going to do for the second half, Mr. Flanagan, and he opened a case, and he had about 500.

Like Dickie Bird's White Cap. He knocked the top of, bent the top of, and went on and did the second half. You do these marvellous, and you took part in the stage show, underneath the art. You do this, you do this, marvelous impersonation of the butt. Is that the original straw hat, or you had other ones? That is the one I wore all through the West End when we did

underneath the arches. I keep that one, but I've got a lot of other spares, but I keep that one he gave me. What do you think of so great about, because he's my particular hero too. I think he was the master of the rebels, really, as far as that, as the Crazy Gang was concerned. I don't think he was particularly the funniest. I thought, of course, I think everybody thought Montserie Gray was the funniest, the best, you know.

But Bud had that wonderful voice. He had an aura about him. He had a heart. That's right, that's right. And the others didn't. They were all anarchists. That's right. I mean, Montserie Reddy Gray, I think, was the great hero.

Tell us one or two stories about him. so many. Yeah, the Monterey Greer. I mean, I worked on that show underneath the arches with Chez, Chesney Allen, who was, of course, still with us at that time. And he used to tell smashing stories about, he always thought the Monceau was the funniest. Yeah. And he used to talk about during the war, you know, when they're going around entertaining

all the troops and all this sort of stuff. And they get to one isolated RAF cut somewhere, in two cars, you know, and the policeman on the gate stopped them, and he said, who are you? And Bud said, well, we're the crazy gang. He said, oh, really, let's see your papers and all this, you know. And all Archipald and he went down the window

of the next car and said we have come here for the plans of the Blenny Bomber so the fella said they're the crazy gangleten my favourite story

of his blood so many tricks well my favourite story of his it's a very sort of proey story but it is my favourite was almost his last season

and he did a summer season with Tommy Trinder he was very old this time at the Montser and he said to Trinder he said now look he said I think it'd be a great help to my act. He said, if you came on in it.

He said, and just did a gag with me. He said, I mean, you're a big star. You know what an old, what's it he was. He said, you're such a big star, Tom. He said, and it'd be a great boost to my act if you came on. He said, well, of course, Eddie, if I could be of any help. He said, well, it's only a simple gag. He said, it's very simple one.

He said, but it would help me an awful lot in the act. And he said, well, what do you want to do? He said, you come on, and you say, hello, Eddie. What did you have for breakfast this morning? I say Haddock. And you say Finan. and he says, no, ficken. He said, now, and Trinder thought, well, it's not much of a gag, but all right.

He said, I'll please the old boy, you know, help him a bit. So anyway, he said, well, we'll do it tonight, shall we? So the monso said, oh, no, no, no, no. He said, I'm very old. I'm very slow at learning these lines. He said, well, I have to practice it. So they used to rehearse every night before the show. What did you have a breakfast day?

Haddock, Finnett, no, ficken. So it goes on. He said, tonight. He said, no, not tonight. And he came to the second night. He said, a big house out there tonight. And he said, this is my big chance. He said, when you walk on there, Tom, he said, they'll love it. He said, we'll do it tonight.

What'd you have a break to say? How'd it, Philly and no feckin? Great. So Trinder's fed up with it by this time, you know. So eventually they come to the night, and Eddie looks in the wing and says, now on you come. So Trinder comes on. He says, hello, Eddie, big round of applause. And he said, what did you have a breakfast today?

He said, corn flakes. Collapse of Trinder. No, shut. No child. He was the devil, wasn't he? Well, they were all a great lot, you know. I work quite a lot with Charlie Norton, you know, as well. Well, they used to bash him about.

Well, he was the butt of the jokes, wasn't it? And Charlie lived quite near me, you know, and I lived in Streatham at that time. And the great story about Charlie was that it always used to go out every night. You know, at the nightclubs, didn't he? That's right, he loved them, and all those awful places. You and I wouldn't know about it. Wouldn't know about anything like that. So he used to go out, and they said he used to reel out of these clubs about 2 o'clock in the morning,

not knowing where he was but every taxi driver in London knew him and they used to say pick Charlie up put him in their cab and they'd drive him home to Streatham and the next day they'd come round

at the stage door and say Charlie we owe me three quid for the taxi fare and he'd pay it quite happily so this was a well known thing so one day he's not so good and he goes to see the doctor and the doctor said well he said the main thing is what you've got to do

Charlie says you've got to get to bed early he said you've got to stop drinking and you've got to do some exercise he said no you live right next door to Streatham Common. He said, get up early. He said, have a walk around Streatham Common. You know, do yourself a bit of good. So Charlie tried, you know, and he knocked off the booze, and he went home about three nights on the trot,

you know, straight back to Streatham. And he gets up in the morning. The third morning he gets up to walk around Streatham Common. It's about half past seven in the morning. He's walking around Streatham Common. And a taxi driver pulled up and said, Don't worry, Charlie, I'll get you home and slug him in the moment. And his part of him, he said, and his part of him, he said, and his part of him, he can.

Martin Gold, the rather boring one, really. It was the richest of the law. Well, apparently, he was the richest, wasn't it? He kept everything, didn't he? That's right. But they still went back by tram. Always by tram to Shretem and Ballam and all around that way. The wonderful story about Charlie was that during the war,

they had a bomb on the Palladium when they were playing a regular season of the Palladium, and a bomb fell on the Palladium on the opening night of their new review just before, and it lodged in the roof of the Palladium. And they said, well, what should we do? And George Black, who was running their shows at that time, and said, well, look, put a piece of canvas underneath the bomb in the roof. He said, we'll open. He said, nobody will ever know that it's there.

They're an unexploded bomb. So they get there, they say, right. And the afternoon, they said, we're going to do it. And all the band get into the pick very, very sheepish, you know, with this bomb above their head. So they all get there to start to rehearse. And they're just going to start to rehearse. And all these bits of gravel fell on the drums.

And they were up like one man and ran out of the theatre. And George Black said, I looked up, and there in the top box was Charlie Norton with a bag of gravel. He was never under the trowel. Now, you also do a marvelous impersonation of Billy Bennett, almost a gentleman. Did you ever actually see him?

No, I never saw him. How do you get it so good? Because I saw him a lot, and you were marvellous. You saw him a lot, Brian. Yeah. Now, he was one of my great heroes, Billy Bennett. I must be absolutely honest, you know. It was a dirty night and a dirty trick

when a ship turned over in the outland. Wonderful stuff. Give them one of the monologues. What's like I do, actually? Turn down and don't know the entity. It was the schooner, Hesperus. We lay asleep in our bunks, bound for a cruise where they don't have reviews

with a cargo of elephants' trucks. The sea was as smooth as a baby's top lip. Not even a policeman in sight, my favourite line of the lot. And the little sardines had got into their tins and pulled down the lids for the night. He was, was he the original of the bumble? Well, apparently so, that's what I hear.

He had the drama, and used to get bum bum at the end of the trip. That's right, yes. His part of the favourite one of his was Christmas Day in the Cookhouse. Do you remember that? Christmas Day of the Workhouse, famous Victorian poet, but Billy Bennett's version was all about Christmas Day in the cookhouse, in the army. And it was all about this army chef who'd manufactured this diabolical Christmas pudding that nobody wanted to eat. It was Christmas Day in the cookhouse.

The place was clean and tight. the soldiers were eating their pancakes I'm a liar that was good Friday goes on goes on the soldier gets up and he starts calling this army chef for everything out of the sun

he says he finally throws his curse at him the soldier does to the chef and he said and whatever you eat may it always repeat be it soup fish entree or horse dovas

may blue bottles and flies descend from the skies and use your bold head for manoeuvres. Did he write the tag, the tag Brian was, and now that I finish my story, I just don't care what comes to pass. And as for your old Christmas pudding, you're on the air.

Put that on the shelf under glass, that's a tag. Did he write him himself? I think he wrote quite a lot. A chap called Marriott Edgar, right now. for them as well. And a pair that I was a great fan of two musical writers called Western and Lee. They wrote quite a lot of

music too, didn't it? Well, Western and Lee were mildness. They wrote everything from sort of goodbye to when father paper the parlour, you know, and all those sort of Stanley Holloway. That's right. They wrote a four-line verse for a song, which I've never forgotten. It was the funniest four lines I've ever

heard of a song. And the song was called epitaphs, the song. And it was all about a bloke who was so boring and fed up that whenever he's got cheesed off he used to walk round the cemetery and look at the gravestones the inscripts is to make him laugh and one of the he says on the very next gravestone

there I saw here lies the body of William Burke a decent man entirely this stone was bought from a second-hand shop and his name's not Burke it's Riley so that a classic no time is coming up

between us. We must just get on to the greatest than all, Miller. And you do Miller Max. Mr. Miller. Did you ever, you saw him? I did indeed see Max Miller very much because my grand again was a great fan of Maxis. She was all the dirty comments. She was a fan of a terrible woman.

But she used to take me and people used to say, it's just grace for you taking him to say Max Miller. She said he doesn't understand what it's all about anyway, so it doesn't matter. He was one of my absolute heroes, yeah. Can you go into any of his routines on the air? Well, that's the point, isn't it? I always used to like a joke he did because he did a lot of clean stuff. People forget that.

And I always like the joke. He said, I've got a few bob. He goes down the garage and he said, I've got a few bob. Now he said, I want something special, some special transport here. He said, what about that car over there? He said, well, that's a Rolls Royce that. He said, that's about £10,000. A few years ago, of course.

He said, well, no, he said, I can't afford that. He said, I've got a few bob, but not that much. He said, well, he said, there's a family saloon there. He said, it's about two grand. He said, oh, no, no, I can't afford that. He said, what about a motorbike there? He said, that's about 500, because it's all no, no, no, too expensive. He said, well, there's a push bike there, he said, 25 quid.

He said, no, no, no. He said, a pair of roller skates. He said, a five, or he said, no, I can't afford that. He said, what's that? He said, that is a hoop. He said, that's a hoop. He said, you get a hoop and a stick, he said, and it's half a crown. He said, it's not, like he said, but he said, that'll do me.

He said, get me out in the country of the weekends. So he buys this hoop, and he goes out into the country for the weekend. weekend and he gets to the pub then, he thinks I'll have a drink, so he puts the hoop in the car park, you know, and goes in. And he comes outside and the hoop's gone. And he goes, Ravenmoor, said, the car park is he said, what is this? He said, look, he said, I left my hoop here. He said, I've come out now. He said, now it's gone. He said, well, what are you moaned about? He said, couldn't have cost you more than half a crown? He said, it's not the money. He said, how am I going to get home?

That is not a typical miller, but it's a very, very good one, isn't it? Yes, it's Brilliant, isn't it? And all the gear, where do you get all your marvellous patterned suits and the silver and white shoes and the white Homburg? Well, the suit's exactly the same way, really, as Max did it. His missus used to make the suits. Well, they made out curtains or something. Debbers is here, so she does the suits for me, yeah.

Well, we go around Berwick Market, you know, and find the most outrageous suit we possibly can of that, that's it. The interesting thing is, I used to go, and if you didn't tell the stories I knew, I was furious. You were very cross. But isn't that a fact? Well, that is the point you get used to it. It's like a song.

If you're going to, and the person doesn't sing the song they're famous for, you get cross. They don't tell the joke they're famous for. Well, of course, the great story about Max was, you know, not being hauled off in the middle of the raw variety performance, which is the great story when he was a huge star in this country, and he went on to do the raw variety performance. And Jack Benny was on, I believe, that time.

And they said to Jack Benny, you can do as long as you like. And they said to Max, you can do six minutes. And he went raving mad, which you would do. You know, and he went on and wouldn't come off. He wouldn't... And he went into his rather rude routine. That's right. And went very well, I might tell you.

It worked very well. But he came off and apparently Val Parnel came around and went raving mad, you know, and said, you'll never work for me again, Miller. And his reply was, which the amount of money varies every time the story is told. He said, I'm sorry, you're about 25,000 pounds too late. But, of course, six months later, he was back at the balladian. Yeah. You mentioned a word song, then.

Song. What about that? Now, there's a Pete Murray. Link, if ever I heard one phone. Well, I possibly, and you didn't, I sang Unleithy Arties of Bud Fannigan. I've sung it with you at the Music Hall Society.

The British Music Hall Society. Do you think we might wish just one chorus of Unleithy Arties? Should we? Why not? Especially for our old chum, Queenie Smith. Queenie, I've had a letter from her saying you were going to be on. Queenie, if you're listening, here is the definite, definitive, underneath the artist. Yes, and I want you to know, listeners,

that this record is not available in any shops. One, two, three. Underneath the arches, we dream our dreams away. Underneath the arches, on cobblestones we lay. Every night you'll find us, tired out and warm, happy when the daylight comes creeping. Heralding the door Sleeping when it's raining And sleeping when it's fine

What's above there? Trains rattling by A ba-bo-bo-bo-ba-bo Pavement is our pillow Is it matter what's a matter where we are Stay underneath the arches We dream our dreams away. And that's jazz.

And that was Roy Hudd, my guest here. Hudders, thank you very much indeed. And now we'll just return to John Inverdale on Sport on 5, but don't forget you rejoin Radio 3 at 1.35. A man's an animal. Lovely, well done. Well done Very good

You haven't heard it sound I thought it's going to pick up out of this Don't just desperate enough about following you Well done, thank you, Hudders It was good Thank you very well follow that Come on What do you want to see

What do you want to see? Well doesn't that bring back some memories Sadly Roy Hudd passed away March 2020 at the age of 83, 27 years after that interview. If you enjoyed that, chat, how about this? Another masterclass from Johners with a musical duo Sir Richard Stilgo and Peter Skelon. Stillers, look, you're talking about coming on late in the evening. You often come on late in the evening cabaret.

What would you describe yourself? Are you an entertainer? I don't know what you are. Well, as partly an entertainer and partly a cricketer, I suppose a taverere artist. would be about the closest train. But you write all your own material, you're very good at producing a lyric or anything, aren't you? Well, not a moment's notice

if you're about to ask me to do one. It's my day off. I mean, would you be able to bring out anything if we gave you a couple of minutes about this morning's play, for instance, or anything which has struck you at the Oval today? Oh, heavens. No, you see, it's very difficult.

I write songs about almost everything except cricket because I'm terribly serious about cricket. I wouldn't dream of making jokes about it. That's far too important. But your other great skill is doing anagrams on people's names. Now, if you were to give you a cricketers' name or anyone in the comedy box. I'm jolly lucky in this, in that, I mean, my name happens to rearrange itself into a lot of useful other names. Such as?

Well, people like Sir Eric Gold Hat, who is the richest man in the world. Can you do anyone from the commentary box? You're a rather difficult lot, actually, because, I mean, your name, for instance, got a J in. It's very hard to hide a J. Right. I did once, years and years ago, work with an American group called the Tinhorn Banjos. And if you rearrange them, you get Brian Johnston. What about Sir Frederick Truman now?

Is it possible to get one out of him? It's very interesting, actually, because usually, when you rearrange the name, you get something completely different from the character of the person, which is why if you rearrange Fred Truman, you get something like ruder fat men, which is obviously nothing like the character itself. I think the longer names are of course harder Christopher Martin Jenkins I mean you get almost the whole of war and peace

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