jimmy cricket

A few weeks after the fuss had died down, I received an email from comedian Bernie Clifton.

It read: “Jimmy, let me know when you’ve had enough publicity from this and I’ll bring them back.”

I roared with laughter.

At the ripe young age of 87, our Bernie is still touring the country gigging, playing practical jokes and spreading happiness everywhere he goes.

Let’s go back to where it all began.

Bernie Quinn was born in St Helens just before the Second World War started and spent his childhood hiding under his bed when the sirens went off.

He was only four years old when a bomb fell on their neighbour’s house four doors away.

Their 14-year-old daughter who used to teach him magic tricks perished in the blast; in his profound sadness, he realised at that early age how fragile life can be.

Kids wore clogs to school in those days and although he scraped through his 11 plus, it was all downhill from then on in.

Happily scoring touchdowns

He was more interested in who was number one in the hit parade of the day, than what went on in the classroom.

His mum persuaded him to become an apprentice plumber, but after he flooded half the neighbourhood that all came to an abrupt end.

Conscription came calling and he joined the RAF.

When he showed his skills as a rugby league player, they signed him up for the local air base team and he sailed through his National Service happily scoring touchdowns.

Reading his autobiography recently, I was quite taken aback at how much Bernie and I had in common.

We both frittered away our time at school; we both messed up every job we took up.

It was only when we both entered the entertainment profession that we found our true calling

In Bernie’s case, it was when he got up to sing with the local dance band in his hometown of St Helens.

Queen Elizabeth giggling at his antics

From there he toured the Yorkshire social clubs as a vocalist, before he found his true calling in comedy.

He got his first big break on the television variety show The Good Old Days, where he met comedy legend Les Dawson who advised him to be a prop comic.

Not long after that, a famous propmaker made Bernie the prop that was to become his calling card – Oswald the Ostrich.

Bernie got so excited when he first saw it that he jumped into it and ran outside.

The sight of a grown man running up and down the street in false ostrich legs had passers-by spellbound.

Would you believe he actually ran the London marathon for charity in a lighter version of the costume?

From then on in, there was no looking back for our Bernard.

He became resident comedian on the children’s hit tv series Crackerjack.

The Royal Variety show beckoned where he had her Majesty Queen Elizabeth giggling at his antics.

Naturally our career paths have crossed from time to time and I’m always in awe the way he radiates the same enthusiasm and energy for comedy, and showbiz, in his eighties, that he had when he started out as a ballroom band singer.

Try to catch his live act readers. He’ll have you laughing hysterically at his visual comedy one minute, and sobbing the next when he performs a song like Bring Him Home from the stage musical Les Misérables.

In the meantime, treat yourselves to his autobiography, Crackerjack to Vegas (www.bannisterpublications.com).

See you next month!