This Much Is True

In Blackadder II, my episode is called ‘Beer’. Over breakfast with Lord Percy, Edmund receives a letter announcing the imminent arrival of his aunt and uncle, Lord and Lady Whiteadder (my stony-faced screen husband was played by Daniel Thorndike, nephew of Dame Sybil and cousin of my lovely friend Diana Devlin), the two most fanatical Puritans in the whole of the kingdom. Thus ensues a catastrophic comedy of errors, with Edmund trying, unsuccessfully, to keep his insalubrious drinking pals and Lady Whiteadder apart. I loved every moment of it.

Lady Whiteadder: Edmund! I trust you have invited no other guests?

Blackadder: Oh, certainly not!

Lady Whiteadder: Good! For where there are other guests, there are people to fornicate with!

We had a lot of fun on the set because Lady Whiteadder was such an amusing character. She gave me flashbacks to my caricatures of the more ridiculous teachers at school. While I’m capable of quite deft pieces of characterisation and Blackadder was a clever comedy and a clever script, I will admit that my characters are broadly drawn — I may draw big, but I draw true. It’s hard to be subtle booming out lines like: ‘Wicked child!!! Drink is urine for the last leper in Hell!’ I particularly relished repeatedly slapping Rowan and Tim each time I boomed, ‘Wicked child!’

Lady Whiteadder resonated with people, particularly middle-aged men; I don’t entirely know why, because she is — not exactly a hypocrite — but a raving Puritanical nutcase. Perhaps it’s because she was so bawdy, without intending to be of course, especially when she’s getting her lips round that phallic turnip that reminds her of her wedding night with such evident relish. That’s the brilliance of Ben Elton’s comic writing; he is able to push something to the edge, and over the edge — Lady Whiteadder is definitely over the edge. Blokes often quote bits of script at me, more often than not: they loom up and boom in my face: ‘Wicked child!’ Thankfully, they don’t accompany that with Lady Whiteadder’s double thwack…

I loved the boys — they were a sweet, funny bunch — and I’m still friendly with all of them, particularly Stephen Fry, of whom I’m extremely fond, and the late Patsy Byrne (who played Nursie), for whom I’ve often been mistaken. And, of course, I know Tony Robinson from our time together in Leicester in 1968; I’ve seen him again quite recently, because he was president of Equity and he was knighted which was a bit of a surprise — Tony was as flabbergasted as anybody.

The Blackadder atmosphere was totally different from the nail-biting competition of the Footlights. A generation or two later, there was a pleasure in each other’s success and a generosity of spirit between the lads that I hadn’t seen before. It was just as funny, funnier even, but without the personal edge. I prefer Harmony House — by which I mean I like people to get on — and my Blackadder pals were gentlemen and gentle men.

Not least because this time I was allowed the last word:

Blackadder: Right! Well, perhaps this time I might be allowed to continue, and perhaps finish, with any luck…

[Suddenly, from under Queen Elizabeth’s dress, Lady Whiteadder emerges, grinning.]

Lady Whiteadder: ‘Luck’? Hah hah hah! Way-hey! Get it?

[Everyone says, ‘No…’]

Lady Whiteadder: Oh, come on! ‘Luck’! Sounds almost exactly like ‘f—’.

It is a Far, Far Better Thing

I discovered Charles Dickens when I was eleven, reading Oliver Twist. I have loved the world Dickens demands you enter ever since. With hindsight, it’s possible that his delight in the criminal world, his compassion for the poor and his sense of mischief (the Artful Dodger) meshed with my own emerging personality. ‘Please, sir, I want some more.’