Sir David Jason - A Life of Laughter. Stafford Hildred
he was such a laugh. His imagination would always conjure up stories and jokes. But he did have a serious side.
‘I remember once he planted this tree at the bottom of his garden. It was really more a yard than a garden. There were no flowers or greenery at all and he wanted to make it look nicer. He really nurtured this tree. He watered it and really tried to look after it. I think he was a sort of premature ‘green’. It got to be about 6ft tall and he was really proud of it. Then the man whose garden backed on to David’s chopped it down one day when we were at school. He said it cut out his light. David was absolutely gutted. Really upset.’
Julie’s older sister Maureen was impressed by David’s ability to mimic a wide range of different voices. ‘I’ll never forget David coming outside into the yard at the back on a warm summer’s night and putting on a really posh voice. “Would you care to take the air on the veranda,” he said and then he laughed. He had the kind of laugh which meant you just had to laugh with him.’
David was by now above average at his lessons but rarely excelled. He saved his efforts for more worthwhile causes, like arguing passionately with his pals that Elvis Presley should most certainly make that much talked about but never realised tour of Britain. David didn’t know then that he had a genuine link with Presley, who had also suffered the death of his twin.
Acting entered young David’s life through school plays. Mike Weedon remembers acting with him in an early play called The Ostler.
‘He had a singing part and really shone. Even as a boy he had a real charisma about him on stage.’
David had his own room at home where he spent hours listening to the radio. His favourite show was the science fiction adventure series Journey Into Space and he sent off for a picture of the crew of the Discovery. He was delighted when it arrived, complete with autographs on the back.
David’s house was usually the base for the youngsters and Mike Weedon recalls it was generally Olwen who took an interest in their youthful games and ambitions. ‘His dad was an old sour-puss, old Arthur. David’s mum was fun. But Arthur had a very bad gait and would limp and that might have been part of his bad moods. He kept out of the way and we kept out of his way. Although his dad always had an eye out that we didn’t really get into trouble.’
What Mike Weedon never knew was that Arthur senior was wracked with pain from crippling arthritis. David was often deeply upset when he saw his father in agony. It left a lasting impression on him and in later life he frequently takes time out quietly to help arthritis charities.
The intrepid threesome all shared a lack of inches. They were all very short for their age all the way through school but never worried about it too much. ‘We used to call ourselves “The Shorthouses”,’ laughed Mike Weedon. ‘I got picked on a couple of times because of my size, but David was so funny and well-liked I don’t think he ever got picked on.’
But perhaps the event which really shaped the future came when David was 14, just after his mother had broken the news to him about his dead twin. The school play had a problem when a young actor dropped out with measles and Headmaster Hackett was looking around for a replacement.
David remembers, ‘For some reason, he decided I could do this part. I can still hear him saying, “White, I want a word with you.” I thought, “Oh Gawd, what have I done now? This is it. I must be in trouble again.”’
But, in fact, the Head carried the news that the boy’s illness would keep him out of the production and cheeky young David White was his choice for replacement. ‘I want you to take over,’ he told David.
Perhaps, surprisingly, the suggestion was not then a welcome one. David might have enjoyed dressing up and larking about at home but doing it in public before the critical eyes of his pals was quite another thing.
‘I wasn’t very keen at all,’ he says. ‘I thought acting and plays were girls’ things. When you’re in a working-class school, being in a play seems like playing girls’ games. You don’t fancy doing it because it’s all a bit girlish and I most definitely wanted to be seen as one of the lads.’
But the Headmaster insisted. ‘I think you would be absolutely right and you are the only one I can think of to do this part,’ he said firmly. The expression on David’s face told its own reluctant tale so the Head added cryptically, ‘Let me put it this way. Don’t ask me to tell you to do it.’
With that, he left young David White to cogitate on his first casting problem. ‘I was standing there for about five minutes trying to work out what he had said,’ remembered David. ‘Of course, I worked out that I was going to do it anyway. The difference was that he was asking me to do it. I slowly realised that if I said ‘No’, he was going to tell me to do it. That was it. It was a fait accompli, really. I had no choice – I did it under duress.’
The play was a one-act production called Wayside War, set during the time of the Cromwellian wars. David entered the action with a heavy heart. ‘I was playing a cavalier and dressing up in all those funny clothes made it even worse. But something happened to me when I started to do it. It was somehow amazing. It was fun. It worked. After all that pressure to take part I found to my complete surprise that I was actually enjoying myself.
‘It was a spy story, based on real events which had actually happened which really intrigued me. There was a spy in Bridgwater who was giving all this information to the other side. This cavalier stayed at this inn and he knew someone in the area was giving all the secrets away but he did not know who. There was a wonderful woman in this hostelry and they met and spent the evening, and later the night, together. Of course, during this he discovers that she was the spy.
‘But he sort of falls in love with her and the next morning she is going off and he knows that he has got to arrest her because she is putting his side in danger. But he lets her go. Obviously he should never have done that, but he did. Because it was all based on actual happenings, for the first time it made history come alive for me. And being on stage was an amazing experience for me.
‘We did it for three nights. Our parents and friends all came and it went down really well. Then they said we were going to do it in a drama festival. That was something completely new to me, I didn’t know what a drama festival was. But I found out that all these amateur groups and schools put in their shows and then over about two weeks they all get performed. And you go and watch a lot of the other plays and then, on the last night, the four plays selected by the adjudicator are performed. Our play was chosen in the last four, and then after we did it we found out that we had won the trophy. It bowled me over. Suddenly there was a competitive thing in my life, and I met all these people who were enthusiastic about acting. Just being in the play was amazing. I can remember the audience laughing and it occurred to me that I was really, really enjoying it. It was a way of being clever and a success, and I’d never been much of either in school.’
David’s mother was impressed. She said, ‘We knew he had something special. He had this quick way with him that could lift people in the audience. I think it comes from our family. Back in Wales our family would always provide their own entertainment. Everyone stood up and did a turn, going back generations. Something of that went straight through to David. But not just to him, to all my children. Arthur and June had it, too, and it made me think of the baby that died. I told David and he gave me one of his looks.’
The stage success gave young David confidence but he still had no thought of acting becoming a career. ‘I don’t think I gave a second thought to taking it that seriously,’ said David. ‘I was much too busy having a good time.’
The teenage trio of David, Mike Weedon and Brian Barneycoat enjoyed their own company and after school would rush off on their bicycles on trips into the green countryside on the very edge of London. At weekends, they would cycle to Broxbourne to secret dens they made on the banks of the River Lea.
Next-door neighbour Ernie Pressland was called up for National Service at 18 and sold his bicycle to David who was four years younger. It was a flash model with ‘Tour de France’ handlebars and the price was £2.
‘I was