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Authors: Brian Johnston
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comment?’
Trueman: ‘Well, all I can say is that that was one of the most fantastic bloody pieces of shortcake I’ve ever eaten in my whole life.’
Bailey: ‘Quite. In fact it’s what I’ve been saying all along …’
[ contd. 94kHz]
PART TWO
An Evening With JOHNNERS
And now, back to the show …
T hanks for coming back!
Just before I talk about cricket, can I tell you a story about the Pope. Do you mind?
The Pope went to Ireland about five years ago and his plane was approaching Dublin when it was diverted to Shannon because of crosswinds. Waiting at Dublin to meet the Pope was a glistening white Rolls-Royce, in the charge of a chauffeur called Paddy Murphy.
They got on to Paddy and said, ‘Drive like mad to Shannon. The Pope’s plane has been diverted and you must be there when he arrives.’ So he raced to Shannon, the Pope’s plane flew in, and the Pope came down the steps and kissed the ground, as he always does. Then he looked up, and his eyes gleamed when he saw this wonderful white Rolls-Royce. He went up to the driver and said, ‘What’s your name?’
‘Paddy Murphy, your Holiness.’
‘Right, Paddy,’ said the Pope. ‘You get in the back. I’m going to drive.’
So the Pope set off and he was doing seventy, eighty, ninety miles an hour down the narrow Irish roads, when suddenly – ‘weeh, wah, weeh, wah’ – a police car signalled him to stop.
‘Can I see your licence, sir?’ said the policeman.
‘Certainly,’ said the Pope – he always carries one in his vestments – and handed it over.
‘The officer said, ‘Thank you very much, sir,’ and withdrew out of his hearing to ring up his superintendent. ‘Super,’ he said, ‘we’re in trouble here. I’ve found a very, very, very important man’s car going at ninety miles per hour. What action am I going to take?’
The super said, ‘Well, how important is he? More important than Terry Wogan? Is he more important than the Prime Minister, than royalty?’
‘Yes,’ said the officer, ‘I think he must be.’
So the superintendent said, ‘What’s his name?’
‘I don’t know what his name is, but he must be very, very important. He’s being driven by the Pope!’
I told you that I did the first twenty-four years after the war on television and I worked with lovely people like Peter West, and Richie Benaud, who came and learnt his trade with us. He learnt very well, didn’t he? He’s jolly good!
And, of course, dear old Denis Compton. Denis, remember , was the vaguest man there has ever been, and still is. He never remembers a single invitation, never arrives on time, always forgot his box or his bat or his pads, but went out and made a hundred with everybody else’s equipment.
About twenty-three years ago, Middlesex were giving a birthday party for him – his fiftieth birthday. Champagne corks were popping in the Middlesex office up at Lord’s when the telephone rang and they said, ‘It’s for you, Denis.’
He went, and came back looking a bit rum.
‘Well, who was it, Denis?’ they said.
‘It’s my mother,’ said Denis. ‘She says I’m only forty-nine!’
R ight, Test Match Special. As I’ve said, I’ve been lucky all my life, and I was very lucky to get into Test Match Special. I did the twenty-four years on the telly, up to 1970, and then they got fed up with all my bad jokes and thought they would get in some Test players to do the commentary – which is very sensible, they do it marvellously. Luckily, I went straight into Test Match Special and have been there ever since.
It’s a lovely programme to do, because we go and watch cricket like any of you do, with friends. If someone says, ‘Have a little drink,’ we might have a small one, or if someone has heard a good story, we might tell it. I hope we never miss a ball, but we have fun and that’s the great thing to me about cricket.
The remarkable thing is that a lot of our commentaryboxes
Trueman: ‘Well, all I can say is that that was one of the most fantastic bloody pieces of shortcake I’ve ever eaten in my whole life.’
Bailey: ‘Quite. In fact it’s what I’ve been saying all along …’
[ contd. 94kHz]
PART TWO
An Evening With JOHNNERS
And now, back to the show …
T hanks for coming back!
Just before I talk about cricket, can I tell you a story about the Pope. Do you mind?
The Pope went to Ireland about five years ago and his plane was approaching Dublin when it was diverted to Shannon because of crosswinds. Waiting at Dublin to meet the Pope was a glistening white Rolls-Royce, in the charge of a chauffeur called Paddy Murphy.
They got on to Paddy and said, ‘Drive like mad to Shannon. The Pope’s plane has been diverted and you must be there when he arrives.’ So he raced to Shannon, the Pope’s plane flew in, and the Pope came down the steps and kissed the ground, as he always does. Then he looked up, and his eyes gleamed when he saw this wonderful white Rolls-Royce. He went up to the driver and said, ‘What’s your name?’
‘Paddy Murphy, your Holiness.’
‘Right, Paddy,’ said the Pope. ‘You get in the back. I’m going to drive.’
So the Pope set off and he was doing seventy, eighty, ninety miles an hour down the narrow Irish roads, when suddenly – ‘weeh, wah, weeh, wah’ – a police car signalled him to stop.
‘Can I see your licence, sir?’ said the policeman.
‘Certainly,’ said the Pope – he always carries one in his vestments – and handed it over.
‘The officer said, ‘Thank you very much, sir,’ and withdrew out of his hearing to ring up his superintendent. ‘Super,’ he said, ‘we’re in trouble here. I’ve found a very, very, very important man’s car going at ninety miles per hour. What action am I going to take?’
The super said, ‘Well, how important is he? More important than Terry Wogan? Is he more important than the Prime Minister, than royalty?’
‘Yes,’ said the officer, ‘I think he must be.’
So the superintendent said, ‘What’s his name?’
‘I don’t know what his name is, but he must be very, very important. He’s being driven by the Pope!’
I told you that I did the first twenty-four years after the war on television and I worked with lovely people like Peter West, and Richie Benaud, who came and learnt his trade with us. He learnt very well, didn’t he? He’s jolly good!
And, of course, dear old Denis Compton. Denis, remember , was the vaguest man there has ever been, and still is. He never remembers a single invitation, never arrives on time, always forgot his box or his bat or his pads, but went out and made a hundred with everybody else’s equipment.
About twenty-three years ago, Middlesex were giving a birthday party for him – his fiftieth birthday. Champagne corks were popping in the Middlesex office up at Lord’s when the telephone rang and they said, ‘It’s for you, Denis.’
He went, and came back looking a bit rum.
‘Well, who was it, Denis?’ they said.
‘It’s my mother,’ said Denis. ‘She says I’m only forty-nine!’
R ight, Test Match Special. As I’ve said, I’ve been lucky all my life, and I was very lucky to get into Test Match Special. I did the twenty-four years on the telly, up to 1970, and then they got fed up with all my bad jokes and thought they would get in some Test players to do the commentary – which is very sensible, they do it marvellously. Luckily, I went straight into Test Match Special and have been there ever since.
It’s a lovely programme to do, because we go and watch cricket like any of you do, with friends. If someone says, ‘Have a little drink,’ we might have a small one, or if someone has heard a good story, we might tell it. I hope we never miss a ball, but we have fun and that’s the great thing to me about cricket.
The remarkable thing is that a lot of our commentaryboxes
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