New Year Thoughts: Paul, Barry, George and Richard... four farewells in 2023

As I get older, Hogmanay has become a time to remember those who meant something to me and who, sadly, won't be seeing in another New Year themselves.

Hogmanay and ‘The Bells’ are bittersweet affairs these days; a time of remembrance and reflection rather than one of seeing in the new, it’s an age thing I reckon as every year there are ever more absent friends to recall.

Working in the media, it’s easy to become blasé about the people who come into your life. You quickly learn there’s a lot of truth in the advice to ‘never meet your heroes’. Thankfully, I’ve never been star-struck, you can’t afford to be in this business; I long ago realised some of the most talented people are also the most genuine, while often, some of the least talented are the most demanding.

This year, Paul O’Grady, Barry Humphries, George Logan and Richard Franklin, all fantastically creative people who fall into the former group, left us, making the memories of the time I spent with each of them all the more cherished.

Paul O’Grady (14 June 1955 - 28 March 2023) first came to fame as his drag alter-ego Lily Savage in the Eighties. Indeed, it was as Lily I first saw him perform in London’s famous Vauxhall Tavern. When I met him a couple of years later, to conduct what would prove to be his first interview with a national magazine, he was still going by the name Paul Savage.

At the time, Lily was due to make her Scottish debut, after winning a London Cabaret Act of the Year Award or some such. The Blonde Bombsite’s first planned appearance in Edinburgh never happened - a sick-line was delivered, I believe - but a couple of weeks later there she was, on a tiny makeshift stage in The Laughing Duck, chiding Edinburgh lesbians for heckling her and reducing the packed pub to tears in the process.

We chatted in the basement cellar of the bar after the show, a chat that stretched into the wee small hours of the morning as the pints kept coming. It was the start of a friendship that like so many in the business just pick up where they left off no matter the length of time between catch-ups.

Over the years, those catch-up were often in the most unlikely of places, a coincidental encounter in a Blackpool nightclub, a London pub crawl for his birthday, while working a Post Office shift (me not him), and an after-show drink where we were joined by the indomitable and, that night, frankly quite terrifying, Maggie Kirkpatrick, best known then as The Freak in Prisoner Cell Block H (now there was a double-act to drink with).

Another occasion was shortly after he had appeared in The Bill as DS Roach’s transvestite snout Roxanne (pictured above); after a day on the set of the Bill, I found myself taking one of the series’ stars and members of the production team to The Royal Oak to see Paul in action as Lily. It was a wild night, Lily was doing her infamous Looby Lou routine when we arrived, though perhaps not as wild as the evening he hid in a cubicle of the Gents in a well known gay bar, only to pop his his head above the partition at regular intervals to welcome revellers desperate to relieve themselves with a suitably witty barb.

Paul O’Grady in the cellar of The Laughing Duck Pic: Liam Rudden Media

Paul was sharp and direct with a razor wit. He was outrageous, loved a party but was also fiercely loyal and caring too. His Birkenhead greeting whenever out paths unexpectedly crossed was always the same, “Liam, ya bastard, what are you doing here?”

That very same line, back when, in another life I found myself serving him in a Post Office, caused huge consternation amongst the other customers waiting in the ever present queue - Paul was dressed as Paul of course, but suddenly all they were hearing was Lily… who was nowhere to be seen. I think he enjoyed that.

I last saw Paul on stage a week or so before he died. He was starring as Miss Hannigan in the musical Annie at the Edinburgh Playhouse and it was obvious the opening night audience were there to see him, and him alone. His standing ovation was well deserved and although he was visibly frail he was also obviously having a ball. In retrospect, his return to a role he had last played 25 years before seemed somewhat significant and I had to wonder if he had chosen to come home to the stage for one last tour, doing what he loved most, making people laugh. You can read my review of Annie here.

Barry Humphries (17 February 1934 - 22 April 2023) also made people laugh, a lot, and never more so than when he was in character as Dame Edna Everage, chucking gladioli at his audiences. Like Paul, Barry was a comedy genius, a magical clown with a forensic approach to comedy and exceptionally fast-thinking. He was also a fine raconteur with a vast bank of knowledge, often of the most obscure subjects. One of his favourite things was whiling away a few hours in antiquarian bookshops, something he loved to do whenever he came to Edinburgh. He adored the bookshops here.

I first got to know Barry when he agreed to visit the Edinburgh Evening News offices as Dame Edna to guest edit that day’s paper. Back when newspapers still had feature desks, sub editors and an army of reporters, writers and photographers, not to mention an array of support staff, Dame Edna’s visit brought a smile to the face of even the most hardened hacks as Barry never allowed his character to slip for a second.

The snow fell as he arrived at the office and as he stepped from his car, he asked if he could take my arm. The old pins weren’t as steady as they once were and he just needed the additional stability an arm offered. Of course, I said yes and then watched as he seamlessly built the affectation into his act as he toured the office.

With Dame Edna Everage and Barry Humphries

I miss catching up with Barry over a coffee, which we did whenever he was in town with time tom spare and with every conversation there was something new to learn.

We also lost George Logan (7 July 1944 - 21 May 2023) this year, and yes, I know there’s a pattern developing here. George was best know as Dr Evadne Hinge, one half of the brilliantly funny drag double-act, Hinge and Bracket, in which he co-starred with with Patrick Fyffe on stage, screen and radio.

I first met George when he and Patrick were touring with the stage play, The Importance of Being Hilda, a very funny parody of Oscar Wilde’s much loved classic. They were both in a hotel room, in the long gone King James Hotel at the heart of Edinburgh’s old St James Centre. Patrick was gazing out the window, George was sprawled on the bed reading a magazine. I was there to conduct a festive interview with them for the Christmas edition of Gay Life Magazine. As I asked my first question they effortlessly slipped into character and answered every enquiry as Dame Hilda and Dr Evadne - it was surreal to hear the oh so familiar voices while seeing George and Patrick. To be honest, I scarcely had to ask a thing as once in character the pair just riffed away, Patrick without taking his eyes off the world outside and George while continuing to read his magazine. Or so they made it seem.   

Some years later, I caught up with George on a press trip to Le Dorat, France, with the then Lord Provost of Edinburgh. The visit was to mark the launch of a new Ryanair route between Edinburgh and Limoges. Arriving in Le Dorat, George was part of the welcoming party - he owned a guest hose there, Bel Ombrage, with his partner Louie.

Funny, candidly waspish and very naughty, he was smiling like a Cheshire cat when we managed to get him ‘a shot’ of wearing the Lord Provost’s priceless Chain of Office, insisting the moment was captured for his photo album.

One of my favourite memories of George is of being invited to stay at his guest house one weekend, during which a number of Hinge and Bracket fans had booked in to meet their hero. They came from all walks of life, were of all ages and included an academic, a wonderfully camp matron, a young couple and even a male porn star - it was a bonkers weekend and George was in his element.

Like Barry, George would make a point of letting me know whenever he found himself home in Scotland. We’d catch up and he’d always have an often scurrilous tale or two up his sleeve that would leave me crying with laughter as well as working out where we could place them to help him sell his autobiography, A Boy Called Audrey. You can read one of those interviews here.

The person I will miss the most, however, is Richard Franklin (15 January 1936 - 25 December 2023), Doctor Who’s Captain Mike Yates, who has just left us aged 87. I’ve known him for 42 years. I met Richard when I was 18, was cast in my first professional acting role by him when I was 19 and even managed to return the favour by casting him on stage in one of my plays.

Over the years he proved a very great friend and mentor and we worked on so many projects together - he even ended up reviewing Edinburgh Fringe plays for me when I was at the Evening News. Whether in York, Brighton or London it was always a delight to visit him when we would discuss everything from politics to theology, putting the world to rights as we did despite the fact that we had differing views on many aspects of the world. 

The quintessential English gentleman, Richard always insisted there was a Gin and Tonic, with a slice of lemon naturally, to round off a Summer afternoon tea enjoyed in the garden… although he also once tempted me to try Gentleman’s Relish, an acquired taste that, it has to be said, I never acquired despite his assurance that the spiced anchovy relish was delicious on hot toast. And just to keep the pattern going, when I first met Richard, it after seeing him in a play called Shakespeare Was A Hunchback, in which he dragged up to play Queen Elizabeth I.

I was lucky to have Paul, Barry, George and Richard in my life. Each one made my life more interesting and the world a better place and not just by making people laugh, or entertaining them, but by the very nature of who they were and their immense generosity of spirit.

I like to think that when we lose people we care about, we automatically carry a little bit of their spirit with us as we go forward. It’s a comfort.

Tonight, I wish you all a very happy, peaceful and prosperous New Year, I’ll be raising a glass and thinking of not just of those lost in the last year but all the wonderful family and friends who continue to live in my heart. I hope you can do the same.

Cheers

Lx