Comedy and Crackerjack legend Bernie Clifton talks to Andrew Owen about being born in the middle of his parents’ Romany Gypsy music hall act, having his first gig interrupted by a Zeppelin raid and appearing in pantomime at Oakengates.

It’s just possible that not all of his stories are true.

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Sometime in the mid to late 1980s, while on a family holiday in Devon or Cornwall, I was taken to see Bernie Clifton in a variety show.

I forget the name of the theatre, but I’ve never forgotten how funny Bernie Clifton was. Old school he may have been even then, back in the days of Ben Elton and alternative comedy, but riding on the back of Oswald the Ostrich the one-time Crackerjack host could play an audience like the trombone he’s holding when we meet at Oakengates Theatre.

Bernie’s nearing the end of his run in Jack and the Beanstalk, and I’ve come along to ask how he’s enjoyed appearing in Telford. But it’s no easy task. Ask him a question and he’ll either reply with a joke or play the trombone he uses in the show – usually in the way Les Dawson used to play the piano.

“Bernie Clifton,” I begin, and he immediately jumps in with “so am I! Bernie! How are you, Bern?”

I try again. “Who are you playing in the show?”

“I might not be the right person to ask,” he replies. Then he tells me that he’s playing ‘simple’ Simon Trott, brother of Jack “of ‘The Beanstalk’ fame. Me and Jack are twins, but only one of us is identical.”

How’s it gone so far?

“How’s what gone?”

The show. How’s the show gone so far?

“Oh, the show! The show’s going really well,” he says.

“Seriously, I’d heard from friends who had worked this theatre before how receptive the Telford audiences are, and they’ve really exceeded my expectations.”

Bernie Clifton knows his pantomime audiences. He’s appeared in 34 productions over his long career. “But I started very early. I started when I was 12 – no, I’m not going to get away with that one, am I?”

He tells me that productions have become more sophisticated in the years since he made his pantomime debut in Snow White and The Seven Dwarfs. “They could only afford two live dwarfs and five cardboard cut-outs. And in the opening scene Snow White says ‘You and you come with me; the rest of you go to bed and stay there.’ But things have changed.”

He’s 74 now and still loves getting on stage. Performing with younger actors keeps him fit and healthy. He describes it as like having a twice-daily work-out using laughter instead of a gym.

“The great thing is, what I like about pantomime, is the fact that it’s the only time of the year that you can get three generations sharing laughter publically. You can’t take your kids and their kids out and have a damn good laugh without one of the generations being maybe embarrassed, but in any pantomime I’m associated with there may be a little honest vulgarity, as I like to call it, but there’s nothing to cause a sharp intake of breath. I just think it’s a lovely moment in the calendar when you can do it. I always see it as a privilege to work to families, to different generations, and to hear that laughter.

He adds: “I think it’s a fantastic challenge to step up to the plate once a year and share the excitement. I think that pantomime in our business is so important because you’re introducing people to live theatre. Again I use the phrase, I think it’s a privilege to be involved in it.”

Bernie tells me he was born into a showbusiness family. His parents had a Romany gipsy act and “my mum actually gave birth to me during a performance. It went down so well they kept it in the act.”

He made his stage debut some time ago. “When I started one of my first gigs was interrupted with a Zeppelin raid.”

Actually, he says, he started out as a singer in the 1950s. A plumber by trade, he worked with war veterans, Irish immigrants and Scousers in St Helens. “We’d do anything for the craic. It was that thing. It may have been nationwide as far as I know, but essentially, to me, there were things happening in my life, humour, practical jokes, gags, sort of an attitude, that I kind of fell in love with and found very easy to accommodate.

“Although I was only a singer , just getting on stage and singing the ballads, nevertheless there was a bubble of mischief that found its way through eventually, and being able to sing actually got me on stage. I had a reason to be on stage. I don’t know how these comics can jump on stage and suddenly start doing gags. My way in was through my voice.”

He’s seen many changes, from the nightclub circuit to cruise ships and television, and he’s amazed and full of admiration for some of the modern comics he has worked with, such as Ross Noble, and Eddie Izzard. They play huge arenas while apparently making it up as they go along.

“When I think of my forebears, and if you like my generation, who were doing the music halls, they had a 12 minute act and you couldn’t add to it or take anything away from it. They’d do that for their whole working life.”

“It’s incredible what I’ve seen from where I started, and I’m still batting.”

He certainly is. And may he stay in his crease for many years to come.