"We're the Goodies, Yes the Goodies, oh the Goodies are coming for you - ha ha ha ha!"
Humph
Humphrey Lyttelton 23rd May 1921 - 25th April 2008
People, I have largely found, are like Paul McCartney songs. Some are Yesterdays and Live and Let Dies; instantly likeable and certifiably classics. Alternatively, there are a selection of Frog Choruses and Yellow Submarines; the ones that wriggle their way into your subconscious until you know them inside out, but can’t understand why you would want to. Finally, and most importantly, there are the growers: the Eleanor Rigbys, the Jets, even the Wonderful Christmas times. Initially their appeal doesn’t make sense – they’re different, vaguely interesting, but a bit bemusing and yet the more you listen, the more sense they make, and soon you can’t get enough of them.
A long-winded analogy, but hopefully a gentle prelude to admitting something I’ve never told anyone before: the first time I heard I’m Sorry I Haven’t A Clue I didn’t like Humphrey Lyttelton.
I think this calls for some context.
Words can often be more powerful than they seem. My German teacher should have taken this into account when he posed this dilemma: “Here’s a deal – you don’t have to do your homework for tomorrow if you listen to I’m Sorry I Haven’t A Clue tonight.” It was 6th period on a Monday afternoon and things had suddenly become interesting: German homework (Mein Feiertag : es war eine lange, langweilige Reise von Schottland nach Spanien) or check out this radio programme he was quite clearly obsessed with. On Radio 4. I was 16, and that was not cool. Nevertheless, to most teenagers, curiosity – and the chance to be a ridiculous little skive – will always win, and I was no exception. I don’t recall the special guest, or how Mornington Crescent panned out, but I do remember a vague sense of confusion. As a fairly dense and largely oversensitive young thing, I failed to understand who this grumpy old man was and why, if he was so damn bored, was he putting up with this nonsense.
Of course, over the next few episodes, hand in hand with my slow-burning comprehension of the rules to Mornington Crescent and my wonderings about the delightful Samantha, this particular Eleanor Rigby grew on me. It’s not hard to understand why. Humph truly was a remarkable man.
(Photo courtesy of humphreylyttelton.com)
Humph descended from fairly grand beginnings: born at Eton College and son of George William Lyttelton (2nd son of the 8th Viscount Cobham), he was in remainder to the Viscountcy Cobham and the Barony of Lyttelton. A descendant of land-owners, politicians and scholars, it says a lot about his delightfully off-beat sense of humour that he considered himself to have most in common with a namesake who was executed for colluding with Guy Fawkes during the Gunpowder Plot.
He was educated at Eton and then served in the Grenadier Guards during WWII, after which he attended Camberwell Art College upon his demobilisation, before joining the Daily Mail as a cartoonist.
Having taught himself to play the trumpet during his time at Eton and formed a jazz quartet there at the same time as he worked at the Daily Mail Humph was prominent in the British revival of trad jazz from New Orleans, even breaking the Musician’s Union’s strict code which forbade working with jazz musicians from the US in order to perform with American jazz saxophonist, clarinettist and composer Sydney Bechet in 1949. The self-penned Bad Penny Blues gave him a one-off hit in 1956, remaining in the UK singles charts for six weeks.
His passion for jazz stayed with him until the end, and over the years he played with a succession of impressive and occasionally surprising artists such as Buck Clayton, Louis Armstrong, Acker Bilk, George Melly, Elkie Brooks and Radiohead. His own group The Humphrey Lyttelton Band kept a busy schedule performing across the country until his death, and now the band continue to tour celebrating Humph’s work.
As with all the greats, the strings to Humph’s bow were various. As well as being a prolific cartoonist and jazz musician, he was a freelance journalist, writing restaurant reviews for Harpers and Queen, funny articles for Punch and frequent articles on jazz. From 1967 until 2007, he could be found on BBC Radio 2 weekly keeping his audience up to date on the Best of Jazz. He was also a keen twitcher and amateur calligrapher, and in 1990 he was appointed President of the Society for Italic Handwriting. All the while he continued to tour with his band as well as broadcasting and writing.
However, it could be argued that he is best-known for chairing the radio panel show I’m Sorry I Haven’t A Clue for thirty six years. Appointed as chairman in 1972, it seemed a natural choice, as the premise of the show was to be one of improvisation, thus rendering the show the comedic equivalent of jazz music. His disgruntled and deadpan style of chair found its way into the hearts of his audience, as he grumped his way through the years, often bewildered, often disorientated, and always incredibly funny. His supervising role was one reminiscent of a bewildered schoolmaster presiding over a disruptive class, when he would much rather be anywhere else, and he often let it be known, with a series of annoyed outbursts, once snapping at Tim Brooke-Taylor: ‘I’m 78 for Christ’s sake!’ or dejected weariness, as seen in his interjection during the show’s stage tour last year: ‘I think my watch has stopped. Oh no...it hasn’t...’ Alongside this bewilderment was a plethora of risqué, near-the-knuckle double-entendres, as he regaled the audience with the most recent adventures of his side-kick, the voluptuous Samantha: ‘Always ready to lend a hand when the team’s points are on the rise’. Each innuendo, despite these being a trademark of the show, would leave the audience stunned into surprised laughter: Humph managed to get away with some of the most disgusting, yet admittedly open to interpretation, intimations which were always able to sneak in before the BBC’s watershed. The innocent, puzzled look on his face often left the audience wondering whether he really understood what he’d just said.
Humph stayed in the chair until three days before his death – although unable to be present at the last date of the show’s stage tour, he recorded a message from his hospital bed which was played to the audience. Despite the situation, his outlandish humour shone on as he quipped: ‘I’m sorry I can’t be with you today as I am in hospital. I wish I’d thought of this sooner...’
I’m Sorry I Haven’t A Clue starts recording again tomorrow – the first time since Humph’s death and, fittingly, almost exactly a year to the day of his passing. There is no fixed replacement chairman, perhaps there never will be. Who could take the place of Humph? It will be interesting to see how the show progresses without him. No doubt there will be notable changes to accommodate his absence. Three intrepid hosts take on the challenge of trying: Stephen Fry, Jack Dee and Rob Brydon and while there is absolutely no doubt that each will be magnificent in their own right, it’s a tough job taking over from such a star. Clue was Humph, Humph was Clue and it’s difficult to imagine one without the other. It still seems bizarre – this grandfather figure, the granddad with whom you knew you could share that risqué joke and he would laugh more than you did, has seemingly been around forever and I think his fans believed he would be around long after we’d gone. Yet without a shadow of a doubt he will be; he will always be remembered in his music and his humour. This will have to do, after all immortality in one sense or another is the least we can expect from a true legend like Humph.
Tributes and Memories
Barry Cryer: He was the very hub of the show: I think it was the Humphrey Lyttelton show, the urbane man in the middle of the idiots. He was the only man I know who could get a laugh with dead air, silence on the radio. Who else would get a laugh with 'Mmmm?'
Graeme Garden: At the end of each stage show we'd play 'We'll Meet Again' with Colin Sell at the piano, Tim Brooke-Taylor and myself on the swanee whistle, and Barry Cryer, Jeremy Hardy and the entire audience on kazoos. As we tootled away Jon Naismith, the producer, would bring Humph's trumpet onstage and, to cheers from the crowd, hand it reverently to the man himself. The rest of us, apart from Colin at the piano, would then put aside our musical toys as Humph took over. As the last high trumpet note rang round the chandeliers, the audience would rise as one in a standing ovation. We all knew it wasn't for the show they were standing and cheering. It was for Humph.
Jeremy Hardy: I think everyone who knew him felt both reverence toward him and great warmth from him. He was a true gentleman in the very best sense of the word; he made everybody around him feel special. And he smiled with a twinkle in his eye that would melt a heart of stone.
Iain Pattinson (Humph’s script-writer): At recordings of Clue, even I could forget there was a script. Such was the transformation from the words I'd cobbled up into the masterful performance provided by this octogenarian, Old Etonian trumpet-player, I could collapse with laughter along with the rest of the audience, as if I'd never heard my own words before. In fact, they no longer were my words. From the moment Humph took the two small envelopes containing the scripts printed on postcards, the words became his.
Sandi Toksvig: Sharing the stage with Humph was always an extraordinary experience. Journalists glibly write about "national treasures" as if there are certain people who could at a pinch be sold off to clear government debt. I always thought it a somewhat meaningless phrase until I first stood on a stage waiting for Humph to be introduced.
Melvyn Bragg: Humph will be remembered widely because of his charm and because, of course, he really did keep British jazz going. He embodied a kind of English geniality and, after all, you really do like people who make you laugh.
Jonny Greenwood (Radiohead’s lead guitarist): We were all sorry to hear of Humphrey Lyttelton's death - he was an inspiring person to record with, and without his direction, we'd never have recorded/released Life in a Glasshouse. So go and find Bad Penny Blues, and celebrate his life with some hot jazz.
Mark Damazer (controller of Radio 4): He’s just a colossally good broadcaster and possessed of this fantastic sense of timing...we should celebrate and be grateful for how much he did for Radio 4.
By Kirstyn Smith
If any of you would like to add your tributes to Humph, please email Kirstyn