'The longest six months of my life': Wyn Calvin MBE

Here he recalls the . . . “Longest six months of my life ...”

By Wyn Calvin MBE

IT’S been the longest six months of my life... and I am not talking about being locked down, locked up, or fire-breaking the Coronavirus.

My medical report invaliding me out of the Army sounded a serious, final warning. I had a heart problem, it seems, and the medical reports said, “Probable length of life – six months.”

Well, that six months was, in fact, 75 years ago, and it started a career in show-business. It was no joke that apparently I had only six months to live. My military career with the Royal Army Service Corps – or RASC – Run Away Something’s Coming – was nearing an end following the D-Day landings and my days as a lorry driver, haring down to the South Coast.

Six months? eh, well if I coudn’t stay in the Army I’d entertain them, make them laugh, cheer them up at a difficult time in Britain’s history. There was not much else to laugh about.

So I passed an audition at Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, believing your should always start at the top, and joined ENSA - Every Night Something Atrocious, the massive organisation to entertain the fighting forces.

With war still raging our rehearsing revue was told we were to leave for France, Belgium and newly-liberated Holland so we had to be in uniform – or be shot as spies by one side or the other. The day I was put into that ENSA uniform Hitler committed suicide. He must have heard that I had joined up again. Serve him right, I said with a laugh.

Six months or no I was determined to begin and end, if necessary, with a laugh. And 75 years later, after a career that began in 1945, I am still trying to get a laugh out of an audience. They won’t gag me, was my pun.

In reality, I started making them laugh much earlier, at the age of four. Where? In Arberth Narberth as the road sign says.

I was born Joseph Wyndham Calvin Thomas in Narberth in 1925 at a time of national depression – “I was as one of the depressions" – at the Kings Arms Temperance Hotel which my mother ran as a B & B in Main Street, opposite the Old Town Hall. I was the seventh child in the Calvin-Thomas family.

I made my first stage appearance at Tabernacle Church, the constant twice-on-Sunday venue. I remember speaking to my sister during a service and being told, 'You do not talk in chapel'. Not to be silenced, I pointed to the pulpit and ad-libbed, 'He's talking all the time'. That Calvin comment went into the story book of Calvin-Thomas folk history.

Thursday, I recall, was market day in the town where I remember the sheep, goats and cattle being tied-up against the houses in the street waiting for a sale. Now there’s a blue plaque on the wall that records my birth in a pub with no beer.

The polite policeman used to call on Tuesday to say "I'll be calling again on Thursday to see the dog licence". It was a caring town. And when it was decided to build a urinal in one nearby village, a local councillor thought they should have an arsenal as well. Think about it.

Narberth is almost divided by the Landsker Line which separates the Welsh-speaking north of the county from the English-speaking south. Listening to other kids in school I was fascinated to be aware of different accents among them. It surely helped a later usefulness of using accents from all over Britain.

But back to Narberth. At the age of four we left for Cardiff – Dad – John Calvin Thomas – felt there would be better chances of employment there for we were now eight siblings. Younger brother Leo (Lionel) had arrived. The trip to the railway station was my first experience of riding in a taxi – it was well-known as 'Ben the Bus' - a four-wheeled trap with a black covering which took Mother Ethel with baby Leo and my two sisters Molly and Betty and myself: the boys had to walk. When asked on the train how old I was I was told to say 'three' - that meant no fare; free travel for me.

After our arrival in Cardiff when asked my age apparently I said 'Four - but three on the train'. I have been lying about my age ever since.

Up-the-line Cardiff, compared with Pembrokeshire, was a frightening place. But every school holiday Leo and I were returned to Begelly where Uncle Harry was schoolmaster and we loved returning to the school-house. A special memory is of Luther the postman who knew the family. One day he told us “I've a postcard for you. It's from you mum and dad. They are coming to collect you on Thursday.” Such was the privacy of postcards in the hands of postmen. I didn’t have to read it myself.

Holidays meant swimming trips to Saundersfoot or the North and South beaches at Tenby. Then a lemonade at the exciting cafe on the cliff-side with wonderful views of the harbour and the monk's boat either arriving or leaving for Caldey Island. Many years later I visted the island to record a BBC radio interview with the Father Abbot. On my arrival at the monastery he greeted me with, "It's good to meet you with your own clothes on". Surprisingly, he added "I saw you a few months ago at Birmingham when you were playing Mother to Ken Dodd in the pantomime".

It was also about 50 years ago when appearing at Tenby's De Valance Pavilion with a packed mid-summer holiday audience I went through my normal routine of, 'Where d'you come from?' Having dealt with Scotland, Liverpool, Yorkshire, Birmingham, with the appropriate gag and accent I asked, "What about Wales? Anyone in from Wales?" A lady's voice said, "Yes, Narberth."

Delighted, I said, in the appropriate accent, 'Honey-gormaid - I was born there'. To the delight and astonishment of everyone – including me – she said, 'Yes I know. I delivered you'. She had been the District-Nurse in Narberth who had brought me into this world. Little wonder that I have a sense of humour: there’s a surprisearound every corner. My mother Ethel was born in Pembroke where her father had Griffith’s Bicycle Shop in Main Street.

Looking back there have been so many highlights but there are two particular recent reminiscences that spring to mind as I look out of my window in Cathedral Road, Cardiff: the first was sharing a joke with the Queen about her digs, Buckingham Palace, when the Grand Order of Water Rats paid her a courtesy call – I am still the only Welsh King Rat there’s been.

Then there’s the important date in my diary for 2021: Civic Week in Narberth where I am the president: not bad for a born and bred Narberth boy.

My career started 75 years ago ... It seems like only six months ago . . .