With enormous thanks to Brian and Mary Davies; Michael Hart; Simon Hart; Fairy Gopsill; Yvonne Talbot; Rosemary Gill; Cliff Michelmore; Rooney Massara; Lady Judy Martin; Barry Chapman; Guglielmo del Pizzo; the Capraro family; Ray Alan; Neil Buchanan; Clive Doig; David Sproxton; Peter Lord; Christopher Pilkington; Chris Tandy; Sir Anthony Jay; Roc Renals; Colin Bennett; Simon and Penny Scott; Cliff White; Gabrielle Bradshaw; Lady Victoria Getty; Susie Ross; John Faulkener; Colonel William Shuttlewood; Maud Eager; Maree Aldred and Ruth Steadman for sharing their stories with me, for letting me reproduce their precious drawings and pictures, and for allowing me to use their fab photographs.
Also to Ed Wilson and John Wordsworth who turned the project into reality.
And to my darling man Ross for his love, support and encouragement and for his sensible suggestions when my hyperbole became too great.
I n the world of entertainment, so they say, you wont get far without good luck, good timing and good friends. Well it might be a clich, but from my experience, its simply the truth. I was lucky enough to come along at exactly the right moment in a golden age of childrens television and I was more than lucky blessed indeed to work alongside one of the great performers of that time my mentor, collaborator and big mate, Tony Hart.
We met at BBC TV Centre, sometime in the mid 70s. The producer of the highly successful childrens programme Vision On had invited me in to discuss a new series that he was planning and to meet with its presenter Tony. Of course I was totally in awe. He was already a famous TV personality, admired, loved and respected by viewers of all ages, whereas I well, you couldnt really call me a performer, I was more of a well, more of a ball of modelling clay actually. I was fresh from the packet and new to the business, not much more than a lump of terracotta Plasticine with a talent for changing shape. If I had ears, Id have been wet behind them.
Several of us smaller performers as we like to call ourselves had recently broken into television, following in the footsteps of Dougal and Zebedee. But it was a fiercely competitive world. The Clangers, with their radical chic politics and musical voices, were frankly intimidating. The Wombles were noisy, furry extroverts with compelling green credentials and a catchy theme tune. There scarcely seemed room for another newcomer, let alone one made of modelling clay.
But Tony must have seen something, some spark of talent beneath the fingerprints. He was generous enough, and big enough, to share his own show Take Hart, no less with a slightly gooey newcomer. He invited me in, partnered me, translated for me, fed me my lines, and every so often gently squished me up into a ball if I was getting above myself.
We hit it off immediately. Tony introduced himself with that infectious smile, and his customary quiet courtesy. Very much in awe, I blurted out my name and the usual rubbish that comes spilling out when you meet a famous person. Tony listened attentively, and nodded wisely. I couldnt believe it; hed got every word. This was an absolute revelation to me; for years people had been staring blankly at me while I spoke, shrugging their shoulders, or giving me one of those watery smiles that says as clearly as can be Ive no idea what youre talking about. Not so with Tony. He had that precious knack of engagement with people. I often saw it in later years, whether he was talking to an autograph-hunting child or to a member of the Take Hart crew. He was always attentive and interested a true listener he had time for everyone and made all of us feel valued.
If I hadnt met him, on that memorable day at the TV Centre, my life would have been very different. It was Tony, and our long and happy partnership, that saved me from going the way of so much modelling clay crammed into the Lego or trampled into the carpet. Its the simple truth: I owe my entire career to that most delightful of men.
I always looked up to Tony I suppose I had no option really. As an artist, a performer, and a professional he was the perfect role model, but I saw all too little of him off-duty. Our worlds were just too far apart. Although he popped round a few times socially, he always found my box a little too cramped for comfort.
So its a great joy now, through Carolyns words, to hear not only about the public Tony that we all knew and loved, but also about Tony off-camera and in private: husband, father, artist, traveller and bon viveur. He enjoyed a wonderful full life with family and friends, in the spotlight and in private. Its a life in which Im proud to have played a small, mischievous part.
Enjoy it!
(with a little help from Peter Lord CBE, the co-founder of Aardman Animations)
I have often been asked how it makes me feel to have Tony Hart for a father. Proud, is my reply. Proud of his talent, proud of his fame, and so proud of the high esteem in which he is held not only by his family, friends and colleagues, but also by all those people who have watched him on television over the years, and who right up until his recent death were still stopping him in the street to say thank you.
When my mother died quite suddenly, I told my father that I would visit every week to see how he was, and to keep the accounts books up to date. Thinking that it would also be good for us both to have a project to keep us busy, I suggested that we put together his biography. What a good idea, he said, and I know just how it should start! But before we start with his words, let me add that this labour of love is as nothing compared to the love, advice, good sense and laughter that he has given me all through my life.
But enough of this sentiment. Let me give you Pas own opening words:
The summer sun shone down out of a cloudless sky on to the golden sand and sparkling blue sea of a Kent coast beach. A tiny boy raced across the sand, tripped and fell flat on his face in a poolof sea water. Two strong hands gripped the sodden child under the armpits and lifted him up. Oh Tony boy, said a deep and well-loved voice. What is your mother going to say?
The tiny boy was my father, TV artist Tony Hart, known to pretty much everyone born between 1950 and 1990 who watched television. The two strong hands belonged to his father my grandfather, Norman Chandler Hart, who gave my father a piece of advice when he was still a young boy. Disliking his office job in Maidstone but compelled to hold on to it in order to meet his financial commitments, he told my father: Never work in an office. And he never did.
Although born Norman Antony Hart on 15 October 1925, my father went through his entire life being known not as Norman or Antony but as Tony, at school, in the army, and of course on television. Tony adored his father and spent his early childhood years with him, his mother Evelyn, and his younger brother Michael in a semi-detached house in Hastings Road, Maidstone in Kent, passing much of his time lying on the floor on his tummy drawing on the backs of envelopes. Norman was no mean artist himself, and many years later he and I would spend hours drawing together. He would carefully pencil a beautiful countryside scene fields, trees, fences and birds which I would completely ruin by adding a wobbly cow, or a thick-ankled horse with six legs. With Tony Hart for a father, I am happy to say that my drawing has improved since then.