LITMIR.BIZ

      In the world of entertainment, so they say, you won’t get far without good luck, good timing and good friends. Well it might be a cliché, but from my experience, it’s simply the truth. I was lucky enough to come along at exactly the right moment in a golden age of children’s television and I was more than lucky – blessed indeed – to work alongside one of the great performers of that time – my mentor, collaborator and big mate, Tony Hart.

      We met at BBC TV Centre, sometime in the mid 70s. The producer of the highly successful children’s programme Vision On had invited me in to discuss a new series that he was planning and to meet with its presenter – Tony. Of course I was totally in awe. He was already a famous TV personality, admired, loved and respected by viewers of all ages, whereas I – well, you couldn’t really call me a performer, I was more of a… well, more of a ball of modelling clay actually. I was fresh from the packet and new to the business, not much more than a lump of terracotta Plasticine with a talent for changing shape. If I had ears, I’d have been wet behind them.

      Several of us ‘smaller performers’ – as we like to call ourselves – had recently broken into television, following in the footsteps of Dougal and Zebedee. But it was a fiercely competitive world. The Clangers, with their radical chic politics and musical voices, were frankly intimidating. The Wombles were noisy, furry extroverts with compelling green credentials and a catchy theme tune. There scarcely seemed room for another newcomer, let alone one made of modelling clay.

      But Tony must have seen something, some spark of talent beneath the fingerprints. He was generous enough, and big enough, to share his own show – Take Hart, no less – with a slightly gooey newcomer. He invited me in, partnered me, translated for me, fed me my lines, and every so often gently squished me up into a ball if I was getting above myself.

      We hit it off immediately. Tony introduced himself with that infectious smile, and his customary quiet courtesy. Very much in awe, I blurted out my name and the usual rubbish that comes spilling out when you meet a famous person. Tony listened attentively, and nodded wisely. I couldn’t believe it; he’d got every word. This was an absolute revelation to me; for years people had been staring blankly at me while I spoke, shrugging their shoulders, or giving me one of those watery smiles that says as clearly as can be ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’ Not so with Tony. He had that precious knack of engagement with people. I often saw it in later years, whether he was talking to an autograph-hunting child or to a member of the Take Hart crew. He was always attentive and interested – a true listener – he had time for everyone and made all of us feel valued.

      If I hadn’t met him, on that memorable day at the TV Centre, my life would have been very different. It was Tony, and our long and happy partnership, that saved me from going the way of so much modelling clay – crammed into the Lego or trampled into the carpet. It’s the simple truth: I owe my entire career to that most delightful of men.

      I always looked up to Tony – I suppose I had no option really. As an artist, a performer, and a professional he was the perfect role model, but I saw all too little of him off-duty. Our worlds were just too far apart. Although he popped round a few times socially, he always found my box a little too cramped for comfort.

      So it’s a great joy now, through Carolyn’s words, to hear not only about the public Tony that we all knew and loved, but also about Tony off-camera and in private: husband, father, artist, traveller and bon viveur. He enjoyed a wonderful full life with family and friends, in the spotlight and in private. It’s a life in which I’m proud to have played a small, mischievous part.

      Enjoy it!