Speaking up for England

Oct 2 2007 by David Charters, Liverpool Daily Post

On his way to Southport, the man known throughout the cricket world as Blowers brings to life a nation of style and humour. David Charters reports

IF HIS mother had not been christened Grizel, the old Etonian might not have nurtured the seeds of humour, which now sprout from him as plentifully as cravats at a vintage car rally.

It bubbles all the time, but emerges defiantly when, in response to a question, he explains that the 31 days he spent in a coma, after pedalling his bicycle under a bus, were “not really funny enough” for his comedy routine.

Well, we can all understand that.

The accident also hindered his promising career as a batsman of cavalier dash.

But it gave us Blowers, a twinkling charmer in soft-soled shoes; a chap more English than a pavilion clock, whose voice has ripened like a russet apple in a sunny orchard, brushed occasionally by a hint of hanky-panky.

Henry “Blowers” Blofeld was part of the Radio Three cricket commentary team in the glory days of Brian (Jonners) Johnston, John Arlott, Don (the Alderman) Mosey, Trevor (the Boil) Bailey, Freddie Trueman and others.

Predictably, it was Jonners, who, in that effervescent public school spirit, chose most of the nicknames, including that of our man Blowers, who is performing his two-hour, one-man show at the Southport Theatre a week tomorrow (Wednesday, October 10).

Although he is still a cricket broadcaster, Blowers is now almost as well-known as the commentator in the Quality Standard English meat TV advertisements, featuring caricatures of Allan Lamb and Ian “Beefy” Botham.

Talking to Blowers on the blower, as he might well call it, is a delightful experience, like sinking slowly into a PG Wodehouse novel. This is a man untroubled by political correctness and untouched by technology. Here is the opening to our conversation

Charters: “Hello, is that Henry Blofeld?”

Blowers: “Speaking. Hello – look, can you hold on for one second because I am going to transfer you to a cordless telephone?”

Charters: “Of course.”

Blowers: “Look, if something happens and you get cut off, can you come straight back to me? So sorry, just hold on, I think it will be all right.”

Charters: “Hello, hello, I can hear you. Can you hear me?”

Blowers: Silence, except for muffled sounds suggesting frenzied electronic activity.

Charters: “Hello.”

Blowers: “Hello, don’t worry, old thing. You’re not on the right . . . (word lost somewhere in space).”

Charters: “Do you want me to phone back on another number?”

Blowers: “No, I don’t at all.”

Charters: “It’s this modern technology confusing us all.”

Blowers: “More or less. Now, hang on, hang on, hang on. Can you hear me?”

Charters: “Yes.”

Blowers: “Oh, that’s splendid, we now have got the right thing. That’s a terrific start – ha, ha, ha, ha. David, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry to be so stupid, but I am a technological nincompoop.”

Charters: “So am I.”

Blowers: “Are you really? I bet you’re not. I bet you use all these marvellous new things. I don’t. I do have them, but I make a terrible nonsense of them. I have been given a Blackberry by my phone provider and it has taken me about four months to . . .

Charters: “Put it in a pie?”

Blowers: “No, to get about a quarter of the way to working it. Oh, it’s difficult, But when you do get into it, it’s invaluable, except it went off in the middle of a church service the other day and I had no idea how to turn it off. It was the 50th anniversary service of my brother-in-law being ordained as a parson.”

Henry Calthorpe Blofeld was born soon after the war started in 1939 to Tom, a Norfolk landowner, and his wife Grizel.

After prep school, he was sent to Eton, where he became the wicket-keeper and captain of cricket, scoring a century against the Combined Services. “I had a terrific time at Eton,” he recalls.

Despite his bicycling injuries, Blowers played 16 first-class matches for Cambridge University, scoring a century against the MCC at Lord’s in 1959.

“I got kicked out of Cambridge after two years because I wasn’t very good at exams and that sort of thing,” he adds.

Blowers then had a brief bowler-hatted career in the City, before deciding on a career in sports journalism, leading to his celebrated broadcasts.

“In my show I don’t talk about cricket at all,” he says. “It’s humour. I trawl through my life from my upbringing all the way through and I talk about various characters in my life, such as my parents, who were very idiosyncratic Edwardians.

“It is fairly self-deprecatory stuff. But there is no cricket as such whatever. I stress this because it is very much a lady-friendly show and I have been having quite decent audiences with 50% of them ladies who have been laughing their heads off.

“People like laughing. That is one of the main reasons I started this show because I have a knack, probably God-given, of making people laugh. In my experience of life, you are either born with a sense of humour or you aren’t. PG Wodehouse still makes me roar with laughter, re-reading them endlessly. I have laughed all the way through my life. It is awfully important to be able to laugh at yourself.

“I loathe political correctness. I hate government trying to tell us what to do. I am a great one for freedom of choice, freedom of spirit and just freedom.”

Even so, Blowers, 68, whose autobiography was well-titled A Thirst For Life, finds that he is having more fun than ever. “But the arithmetic isn’t so good,” he adds with a sigh.

davidcharters@dailypost.co.uk

Blowers in full flow

“MY VERY Edwardian mother, who drew the short straw at the font when she was christened Grizel, was a remarkable woman. Some people thought it was short for Grizelda. It wasn’t. She was christened Grizel. She was a marvellous woman, brilliantly clever. I tell some wonderfully wicked stories about her, which she would have loved.

“She died years ago. And so we go on.” To savour the stories, you must allow the rich-cream of the man’s voice to envelop you.