Sir Tony Robinson - No Cunning Plan

TONY ROBINSON

NO CUNNING PLAN

My Story

SIDGWICK & JACKSON

For Louise

And in memory of Leslie and Phyllis Robinson

As I get older, it seems that peace of mind may be most often found among contemporaries who have mastered a craft, and left examples of their craftsmanship. If there are rules and disciplines, and one has fulfilled them, perhaps one has achieved all that can be achieved. Happiness may not be something to pursue directly, perhaps it is a side-effect of working hard at something to the best of ones ability.

William Waldegrave, A Different Kind of Weather

I learnt I was about to become a knight when I was lying on my hotel bed with a belly full of pork and pastry. Id been shooting a story in Parramatta, New South Wales, about an eccentric nineteenth-century showman and pastry cook called the Flying Pieman, and the director had wanted endless retakes of the part where I had to eat one of the Piemans signature dishes, so I was feeling a bit queasy.

My iPad pinged. My PA, Heli, had Skyped me, and was waving an official-looking letter.

Id heard a rumour that secret conversations had taken place, my name had been looked on favourably, and in the near future there might well be some official recognition of my contribution to politics, entertainment, charity, education and whatever else might justify a gong, so Id consulted my daughter, who has a much keener understanding of this kind of thing than I do.

Strewth! What do you reckon itll be, Laura?

An O, I should think, or maybe an M.

Excuse me?

Order of the British Empire, Member of the British Empire...

Theres hardly any British Empire left. The Isle of Man, I suppose, Gibraltar, Tristan da Cunha maybe...

Oh, come on, Dad. Its a massive honour. Being picked out for service to your country, how cool is that?

So when my wife Louise and I had left for Australia, Id asked Heli not to open any letter that looked like it might have come from Buckingham Palace, 10 Downing Street or some other fancy address, but to call us immediately.

And now there she was two thousand miles away with a sealed envelope in her hand that clearly said On Her Majestys Service, Return Address: 1 Horse Guards Parade.

It should have been a dramatic moment. Id been expecting something embossed, with lots of sealing wax and a big coat of arms, not a piece of paper that looked like the reminder you get from the dental hygienist about your six-monthly check-up. But it definitely said The Prime Minister has asked me to inform you, in strict confidence , that he is recommending that Her Majesty may be graciously pleased to approve the honour of... Although what honour it was she might be graciously pleased to approve was a mystery. The trouble with trying to read something thats being Skyped from the other side of the world is that the image tends to pixelate.

Whats it say, Lou? My eyesight isnt the greatest.

I havent got my lenses in.

Shall I read it? asked Heli helpfully.

No! No! Tonys got to hear first.

Whats the first letter? I said. Is it an O?

Lou put her glasses on.

Nope!

An M?

Nope!

Flippin eck! Its not a C, is it?

Whats that?

Commander of the Empire. That really would be a big deal.

Nope! There was a long pause followed by a squeak. Its a K, Lou yelled. Its a fucking K! and she started bouncing round the room.

How do you keep a knighthood quiet? We werent supposed to tell anyone until the formal announcement a month later. OK, in the great scheme of things it didnt matter a jot. It wasnt like Id been kidnapped by Islamic State or contracted Ebola. I wasnt going to be given a castle, or dressed in armour and made to fight at the Battle of Agincourt. Nevertheless it was an extraordinary thing, like Bristol City winning League Division One and the Johnstones Paint Trophy in the same season, and I couldnt stop thinking about it.

Lou and I developed our own secret signal. Wherever we were, whoever else was around, wed catch each others eye and draw a discreet circle with our forefingers, followed by a tiny stabbing motion. It was supposed to represent a very small knight wielding his sword. It worked. Nobody ever guessed what it signified. If they noticed anything at all, they probably thought we were trying to get something nasty off our fingers.

The only people we told were Laura, and my son Luke. We knew they wouldnt blab. But before the story broke we wanted to share the news with Lous mum. So as soon as we got back to the UK, we phoned her and told her we were coming straight up to the Wirral.

Why?

Why what, Pam?

Why are you coming up?

To see you.

You cant come up just like that. I need to clean the house, sort out the dogs...

Dont worry. Its no big deal.

When we arrived, the whole family was there. Lous mum looked tense.

Lovely to see you, Pam.

There was a pause then Get on with it, she said.

Get on with what?

The news.

What news?

The news youve come all this way to tell me.

Its nothing, I said. Except...

Pam reached for her ciggies.

Im going to be knighted... which means your daughter will be a lady.

Pam put her fags down again.

Thank Christ for that, she said, and breathed a sigh of relief. I thought you were going to tell me youd been exposed for having sex with underage girls in the seventies!

On the night of the big announcement we had a dozen friends round to dinner. Wed told them it was to celebrate our return from Australia wed been away the best part of four months. At a quarter to ten Lou sneaked out of the room and came back with a big cake, blazing candles and lots of plastic knights stuck in the icing. Thats when we made the announcement, and everyone got a slice with a knight on it.

On the stroke of ten we turned on the telly, and I was the lead story. More important events had occurred that day, but the earthquakes, race riots, ministerial resignations, and train crashes hadnt offered the news editor an excuse to play the clip from Blackadder where Baldrick is made a lord and enters wearing an ermine cloak. OK, maybe it didnt deserve quite such extensive coverage, but being the first item on the BBC news still felt a pretty big deal to me.

Tuesday, 12 November 2013, 6.30 a.m. The night before Id been reading my latest book to a bunch of kids at a literary festival in Kilmarnock, and Id just got off the sleeper at Euston. I walked across the station to the cab rank, frowzled, tousled and a bit flustered.

It wouldnt be my first time at Buckingham Palace. In 2006 Channel 4 had asked Time Team to create a week-long live TV extravaganza. As we were in the middle of the Queens eightieth birthday year, wed suggested an excavation at Buckingham Palace.

The palace authorities were initially sceptical, and we didnt blame them. I was a republican, so was Mick Aston, our lead archaeologist. The Windsor press office wouldnt want us recording any royal high jinks and selling the story to the Socialist Worker. But they relaxed a little when we appointed Laurence Vulliamy as series producer. Hed orchestrated a number of televised royal events, was thought to be a safe pair of hands, and eventually, though nervously, it was agreed we should be given royal access, although not before Id been taken to one side by their press office and asked for reassurance that I wouldnt cause any offence.

Of course I wouldnt! We were old hands at this on Time Team. You had to keep on the right side of the punters, that was part of the job. Wed wrecked every garden wed ever filmed in. Mechanical diggers had ground their way across the lawns of England, flowers beds had been destroyed, enormous trenches dug across paths and through vegetable plots. It was extraordinarily generous (not to mention a bit daft) of anyone to be prepared to make such a sacrifice, and the least we could do in return was be polite and respectful to the occupants. Wed treat the royal family in exactly the same way. Furthermore, I said, I didnt feel any animosity towards the Queen, who I thought had done a remarkably good job in extremely trying circumstances. How many other rulers would have dealt with losing the largest empire the world had ever known with such good grace? It wasnt HRH I was opposed to, it was the principle of monarchy the fact that the Queen could veto proposed new laws, could nominate bishops to the House of Lords, was the head of just one sect among Britains many religions, that she sat on the throne only because her father... but by then the press attachs eyes had glazed over. Wed both made our points. Any further conversation was redundant.