PETER ALLISS HAS been a worthy successor to Henry Longhurst but in a very different way. He is the epitome of what people expect the modern commentator to be. He is cheerful, witty, gregarious and good-looking. He exudes confidence and not only looks prosperous but is! He writes about golf, he coaches and does interviews and is a course architect. But with it all he has a human and friendly touch. This came over well in his television series Around with Alliss which included a good ‘mix’ of partners such as Lord Scanlon, Michael Parkinson, Sir Douglas Bader and Bill McLaren.
As a player he won twenty-two major tournaments and played for Great Britain in the Ryder Cup. He was a stylish player and always looked better than his results. Even more than Henry he can sympathise with the tensions of the man on the green. For he too got the twitch, or ‘yips’ as I think he calls it, and once took four from the edge of the eighteenth at Wentworth which contributed to Great Britain’s defeat in the 1953 Ryder Cup.
Since starting on television under Henry’s wing in 1965, Peter has become the master at telling the average golf viewer exactly what is happening and why. He knows the players so well that he almost seems to read their minds. With experience he has learned the art of being informative, descriptive and colourful in an utterly unpompous manner. He can build suspense without overdoing it, and realises that the personalities and characters of players are the strings which a commentator plucks to bring the game alive. ‘Bernhard Langer is considered a good putter from this range,’ he observed once, ‘irrespective of his reputation!’ During another golf tournament he surprised viewers when he confided: ‘I like a bit of rough – who doesn’t?’
But Peter is never at a loss and as someone once said, ‘His putter is not too good, but his patter . . .!’
Some commentators seem especially suited by character, appearance and lifestyle to the sport on which they commentate. Even though he retired after Olympia in 1980, I suspect that most people still think of Dorian Williams whenever show jumping is mentioned. I think it is fair to say that BBC Television made show jumping the amazingly popular sport which it is today. And Dorian was not only the voice of the BBC for that sport from 1953 to 1980, but his was the hand which steered the producers to the stage of perfection which we see on our screens today.
In appearance he looked distinguished and was always well and soberly dressed in clothes cut in that special horsey style – jackets longer than most with slanting pockets, narrow trousers and well-polished shoes. Except for the first year he was Master of Foxhounds of the Whaddon Chase for all the time he was broadcasting. His knowledge of the horses, riding and jumping was unsurpassed and founded on his own experience. In fact he wrote more than two dozen books (three of them novels) about horses and the art of training, treating and riding them. He aptly described himself as an ‘equestrian commentator’ and for all those twenty-eight years covered all the big events for BBC Television, including the Olympic Games, International Horse Show, Horse of the Year Show and Olympia.
In addition to his expertise and close relationships with all the show jumping world, his greatest asset as a commentator was his enthusiasm. His favourite phrase was ‘Jolly good’ and his ‘Oohs’ and ‘Aahs’ and ‘Come on David’, ‘Go on Marion’ not only raised the excitement and tension, but often made the armchair viewer feel he was actually in the saddle himself. Dorian was unashamedly partisan, and admitted it, which is rare in a commentator. He was also intensely patriotic, so our successes or failures in international events raised him to peaks of enthusiasm or depths of depression.
He seldom made a mistake though he did once announce Lady Rose Williams as George Hobbs – in spite of the difference in their figures! He was always impeccable in his description and treatment of the Royal Family, whether they were watching or competing. But he did once fall into the trap we have all fallen into in our time – thinking his microphone had been switched off when it hadn’t. He once said, as a member of the royal family walked forward to present a cup at the end of a show: ‘My God! What a hat!’ – much to the delight of millions of viewers, who probably agreed with him.
There was another interesting side to Dorian. After he left Harrow he attended the Guildhall School of Music and Drama, was a schoolmaster from 1936 to 1945 and then in that year founded the Penley Centre of Adult Education at Tring, of which he continued to be a director. And to show his versatility and that horses were not the only things in his life, every August he produced an open-air production of a Shakespeare play in the garden at Tring.
Once again I find myself saying it about a sport broadcast on BBC: horse jumping will never be quite the same again without Dorian.
In 1996 Alan Weeks had to retire from broadcasting because of illness and he died three months later at the age of seventy-two.
The man for all seasons, and all sports. Whenever a minor or comparatively unknown sport is televised you can be pretty certain that Alan will be the commentator. He is always reliable and knowledgeable and has commentated on ice hockey, skating, soccer, volleyball, basketball, gymnastics, water-skiing, snooker and swimming. And I bet I have missed something out! I enjoy him best when he is doing dancing or figure-skating on ice. The technical terms for all the varied and intricate movements, such as double axels, camel spins and flying jump sit spins, just roll off his tongue.
It is not really surprising that he seems so much at home by an ice-rink. After leaving the Royal Navy in 1946 at the age of twenty-two, he became secretary of the Brighton Tigers ice hockey team, and general administrator of the Brighton Ice-Rink. In 1951 Peter Dimmock heard him on the public address system and gave him a test, which he passed with flying colours.
He wears rather large glasses and once after a football commentary he was called to the telephone. It was Buckingham Palace: ‘We have just seen your spectacles on television; where can we buy a similar pair? They would be good for golf.’ I wonder who of the royal family played golf?
Alan is so expert at all the sports which he covers that he is not often caught out. However, in the 1978 World Gymnastics he was commentating on Ronda Schwaudt carrying out some amazing movements on the beam: ‘Whichever way you look at it,’ he said, ‘the improvement by the Americans is really quite – Aaagh!’ While he was talking Ronda had mistimed a somersault and landed painfully astride the beam.
He was also responsible for a little gem when swimmer David Wilkie was winning his gold medal in the Olympic Games: ‘If Wilkie goes on like this he’ll be home and dry!’
One of the best of the modern commentators is John Motson, better known for his soccer commentaries, but who has also covered lawn tennis. He went to a rugby-playing secondary school, but learned his soccer from his father – a Methodist minister – who used to take him to watch games all over London. He talks fast in a rather sad-sounding voice and is full of facts and figures which he has accumulated by poring over all the soccer records. He is accurate and objective and because he is a fair critic is popular with managers and players.
He made his name on radio, joining their Sports Department in 1968 after reporting for the Sheffield Telegraph and commentating on local radio. Ten years later – as so often happens these days – he was grabbed by BBC Television for their Match of the Day. Radio is indeed the nursery for television.
John has been through the usual commentator’s nightmares. In the 1978 World Cup the numbers of the Argentinian players were indecipherable against their striped shirts, and John had to commentate for twenty minutes or so without really knowing who was who. He has also made his fair share of gaffes. Once he was describing Tottenham’s black forward Garth Crooks who was making space for his colleague Archibald: ‘There’s Crooks,’ he said, ‘doing all the spadework for Archibald.’
At another match he commented: ‘He has those telescopic legs that can turn a Leeds ball into an Arsenal one.’ And during a World Cup match he announced: ‘Nearly all the Brazilian supporters are wearing yellow shirts – it’s a fabulous kaleidoscope of colour!’
Soccer commentary is not easy – unless the commentator knows his game and facts thoroughly, it can become just a recitation of names. There is also intense rivalry for the top position on BBC Television, and the feeling of a rival breathing down your neck makes the job that much more tense and difficult. But John seems to cope admirably and, as he once remarked, ‘The unexpected is always likely to happen!’
Old rugby internationals seem to make excellent commentators, far more than old players from any other game. I can think of Peter Cranmer, Cliff Morgan, Ian Robertson, Chris Reay and Rex Alston (who although not an international, captained both Bedfordshire and the East Midlands).
And then of course there is Nigel Starmer-Smith who came to Radio OBs shortly before I left, and now does such admirable commentaries for BBC Television. He gained seven caps for England as scrum half or as Jimmy Hill once said: ‘. . . he had seven craps as scum half for England.’
Nigel is very much the players’ commentator. He seems to know what they are thinking and can of course appreciate from personal experience all the conditions and difficulties under which they are playing. He has a pleasant, cheerful voice and brings the game very much alive. In one memorable commentary he said: ‘Wales now really are operating inside a telephone kiosk’!
At the age of thirty-four he came on as substitute for Dusty Hare for the Barbarians against the East Midlands. He showed that he had lost little of his skill and, for a commentator, was still remarkably fit, when he made two spectacular tackles.
He has spread his wings and has done some hockey, tennis and soccer commentary, and he once informed his listeners: ‘That’s the equaliser. Germany go ahead 2–1!’
Another commentator whose profession made him a ‘natural’ as an athletics commentator was Ron Pickering. He was the Amateur Athletics Association coach for Wales and South West England and helped Lynn Davies win his Olympic gold medal for the long jump. Later Ron joined the Greater London Council as the recreational manager of the Lee Valley Scheme. He was born into a cockney family and his father was a boxer. Ron himself was a good athlete at school but abandoned his own hopes of winning a gold medal when his girlfriend beat him in the school long jump. It was not such a disgrace as it sounds because his victor was Jean Desforges who in 1952 captained England’s women’s team, and in 1954 was European long jump champion.
Ron was always a fighter for good causes – sports facilities for young people, anti-drugs, the Olympics in Moscow and starting the Harringay Athletics Club to encourage good race relations. Ron had quite a large physique, a rather ‘with it’ hair style and a sense of fun. The goodness of the man came out in his sympathetic commentaries which, added to his vast knowledge of athletics and the athletic world, made him an ideal partner for David Coleman in BBC Television’s excellent coverage of the sport in the 1970s and 1980s.
Ron’s last television commentary was at the 1990 European Championshops in Split and sadly he died of a heart attack in 1991. Viewers respected him and had confidence in him, because in the complicated variety of athletics he quite obviously knew what he was talking about.
He is credited – or debited! – with several athletics gaffes: ‘Watch the time – it gives you a good indication of how fast they’re running’ . . . ‘One thing I must say about this packed meeting. It is absolutely packed!’ . . . and the all-time favourite: ‘Here comes Juantorena now – every time the big Cuban opens his legs he shows his class!’
A few years ago OB commentators could have put on quite a good variety show. Tony Lewis on violin; Don Mosey singing anything from Gilbert and Sullivan to Ilkley Moor; Christopher Martin-Jenkins with impersonations; Freddie Trueman as stand-up comic; myself – perhaps as a story-telling compère; and very definitely Alun Williams with songs at the piano.
On many tours overseas he entertained rugby teams and, on every sort of get-together where there was a piano, he was the life and soul of the party. He also travelled round Wales in a professional capacity supporting such artistes as Max Boyce. He was fluent in Welsh and could tell stories and commentate equally well in either language. Perhaps because he had been a permanent member of the staff in BBC Wales ever since the war, until he went freelance in 1982, he was possibly the most versatile of all modern commentators.
There was really nothing that he had not had to cover, not just in Wales, but nationally for the BBC on big occasions. You could bet that you would find him somewhere on the route of the procession, whether it was a coronation, wedding, jubilee or even funeral. He had the Welsh gift of language and rhetoric and also had the joie de vivre to bring lightness and laughter into his description of events. He also seemed to attract around him every Welshman who happened to be in the crowd.
In sport in Wales he covered everything, including cricket and soccer. But he was of course best known all over the world – and in the Commonwealth especially – for his rugby and swimming commentaries. It would not be right to say that he did not sound pleased when Wales scored a try. In truth, for a few seconds he was often hysterical. But one easily forgave him for his enthusiasm, because of the skill and knowledge with which he had described the play leading up to that try. In swimming his famous ‘. . . he (she) touches NOW’ rang out round the Olympic pools all over the world.
He was in the Royal Navy before joining the BBC and as you will have gathered was a man of terrific energy, travelling many miles on his job (‘Four or five times round the world’), and taking on far more than any one man should. He was a delightful companion to be with and a great storyteller and behind the glasses was the wickedest twinkle you will find in anyone’s eyes.
He had his awkward and embarrassing moments like all of us. I don’t know of any real gaffes in English, but there were probably some in Welsh which we don’t know about. His fellow commentators remember with delight the Commonwealth Games in Jamaica in 1966. Lord Swansea won a gold medal for rifle-shooting and Alun with pride in his voice was describing the scene as Lord Swansea stood on the centre dais to receive his medal. Alun’s voice broke into a near sob as the medal was hung round Lord Swansea’s neck. But then to Alun’s horror the local band started to play Land of Hope and Glory. Forgetting his BBC job, he rushed out of the commentary box and pointed out the mistake to the conductor. The band then tried to retrieve the position by playing God Save the Queen. And then – after further entreaties by Alun – they did strike up Land of My Fathers, giving Alun time to rush back to the commentary box to restart his commentary when the tune finished.
He also had some of those dreaded long moments to fill when delays in a ceremony mean that the commentator has nothing to describe. This happened to Alun at the return from the round-the-world voyage of Francis Chichester, when he was due to land at a certain time at the steps by Plymouth Hoe. But Mrs Chichester – as she was then – went out in a boat to meet her husband before he landed, and there was a delay of an hour with nothing happening. Somehow Alun coped.
He was, however, struck dumb for some seconds on one occasion early in his BBC career. He had been commentating at the St Helen’s Ground at Swansea on a county cricket match between Glamorgan and Lancashire. At the end of the game he had to rush back to the studio to give a close-of-play summary in a sports programme. Because he was then inexperienced he thought he would make sure to get off to a good start by writing down his opening sentence, and after that he felt he would feel more confident and he could then continue his summary unscripted. So he scribbled out something like: ‘I’ve just got back from the St Helen’s Ground where in front of a large crowd there was an exciting day’s cricket, Glamorgan bowling Lancashire out for 127, and then making 210 for 2 in reply.’
Alun had only time to rush straight back into the studio without talking to his producer first. Still, he knew that he had three minutes to do, and he had his opening sentence all written out, and the score-card of the day in front of him for the details of play. He had hardly sat down in front of the microphone when the presenter of the programme got a signal in his headphones, gave Alun a nod and said: ‘Well here in the studio is Alun Williams, who has just got back from the St Helen’s Ground, where in front of a large crowd there was an exciting day’s cricket, Glamorgan bowling Lancashire out for 127, and then making 210 for 2 in reply. Alun.’ As I said, he was struck dumb for a few seconds – who wouldn’t be? – but he got out of it somehow and completed his three minutes. But he learned the danger of writing down anything in advance when about to do a live broadcast.
By the way, he was a bit touchy about one thing. Alun – as you probably know – should be pronounced ‘Alin’. Woe betide you if you cued over to him as ‘Alun’. He would not start his piece of commentary until he had pointedly said: ‘Yes, it’s Alin Williams here.’ Like myself, he retired as a member of the BBC staff and then continued to do exactly the same jobs as a freelance – and he got better paid too!
Welsh broadcasters are so versatile! Alun Williams, Wynford Vaughan-Thomas and Peter Jones put a microphone in their hands and they would talk and commentate about anything. It was not just the gift of the gab. They seemed to have a natural exuberance and enthusiasm, and words streamed out of their mouths like a waterfall. Long, beautiful words too. I honestly don’t know where they found them. If anyone could claim to be, then Peter Jones was the Roget’s Thesaurus of broadcasting. Although he did get a bit carried away once when he said: ‘They’re floating up on a sea of euphoria, and hoping to drag themselves clear of the quicksand at the bottom’!
Peter had a pleasant, lilting voice to go with it too, which he often dropped on the last word of a sentence. Sadly, he collapsed in the BBC launch whilst he was doing the radio commentary on the 1990 Boat Race. He died soon afterwards while still in the prime of his broadcasting career.
He had come into broadcasting late in life and like a few of us had that necessary little bit of luck which was to change his way of living. He got a blue for soccer at Cambridge in 1951 and 1952, and his captain was Peter May, who surprisingly captained Cambridge at soccer but not at cricket. Peter (Jones) also played as an amateur for Swansea under the captaincy of the legendary John Charles. After Cambridge he went to Bradfield where he was master in charge of soccer. Living nearby and playing for Reading at the time was Maurice Edelston, and Peter arranged for him to go and coach the boys at Bradfield. They became great friends and one day when Maurice was doing a soccer commentary for BBC Radio at Southampton, he took Peter along with him.
After the match they had a drink in a pub with Tony Smith, the BBC producer from Bristol who was in charge of the broadcast. During the conversation Peter mentioned that he would love to have a shot at commentary one day. Tony promptly replied that he wanted a report from a match at Aldershot the following Saturday, and would Peter like to do it. Peter leaped at the chance and did a satisfactory job with his report. So much so that Angus Mackay, then in charge of Radio Sports News, heard it and offered Peter a job in the Sports Department. So Peter left Bradfield after thirteen years as a schoolmaster and became a broadcaster. Like myself, he happened to meet someone at the right time and took advantage of his luck. He was soon to make his mark, because Angus chose him to succeed Eamonn Andrews as the introducer of Sports Report, and Peter did this for five years, learning his trade as a soccer commentator at the same time.
He soon found that soccer commentary is not as easy as the commentators make it sound. The ball is constantly changing direction, up field, down field, and across from touch line to touch line. On its way it is passed from player to player. I remember that Raymond Glendenning told me that on average he could only mention one pass in three, unless his commentary was to become a list of players’ names. And of course in those days there were the great players such as Matthews, James, Finney, Shackleton and Logie, who tried to beat their man by controlled dribbling. Nowadays the players – because no doubt they are fitter – run all over the place and get rid of the ball to someone else as soon as they receive it. How seldom does one see a player trying to pass his opponent with a dribble or a dummy. This means that there are far more passes in modern football and it is quite impossible for the commentator to cover them all.
So Peter evolved what I call a ‘thinking aloud’ commentary. When play was in midfield and there was little likelihood of a goal, he would speak his thoughts instead of describing the game. ‘Poor Graham Shaw,’ he said once. ‘It was there for the asking and he didn’t give the answer!’ He might muse over what tactics the team was trying, what was going on in a certain player’s mind, how the game would affect the teams’ positions in the table, how the manager was feeling, and so on. He would do this for a few moments and then pick up the play again as one of the goals was threatened. Other commentators now do the same, and the soccer commentary is far less descriptive of actual play than it was. Were individual skills to be revived to the standards of say twenty or thirty years ago, then there would be something other than just passes to describe.
And that’s quite enough about soccer commentary from me. But I did watch the Arsenal in the golden age of the 1930s, so I am biased in thinking that soccer playing standards have deteriorated. Whilst talking about the Arsenal I must digress to tell you the only funny soccer story that I know – or possibly that exists, for that matter, because it is a fact that cricket and golf provide so many stories, leaving the other sports nowhere.
Anyway, in the 1930s Arsenal had a half-back called Copping who for those days was considered an aggressive hard-tackling player. They went to Italy to play a match against a well-known club and after about five minutes Copping whipped away the legs of an opponent with a sliding tackle. The small Italian referee ran up to him wagging a finger and said in broken English, ‘No more of that please. We want a clean game.’
Copping nodded but five minutes later did another vicious tackle. Again the referee ran up to him: ‘I have already warned you once – next time I send you off – pronto.’
The game went on but Copping continued to play his natural game and soon had another Italian writhing in pain on the ground. Up came the little referee, notebook in hand, and as he approached, Copping muttered under his breath: ‘Oh, bugger off.’ ‘Ah,’ said the referee, ‘that is good. You apologise, so I do not send you off.’
And now back to Peter in his many other roles, other than soccer commentator. He became radio’s number one for the big occasion, be it a jubilee procession, a wedding or a London Marathon. He was, I would say, happier outside than covering a service or ceremony indoors. He had one favourite expression which you could bet he would use at least once in any big radio broadcast. He loved to describe a person or people as ‘walking tall’. This he physically did himself. He was tall, good-looking, with wavy hair and bags of charm. He was always debonair and smartly dressed and was in the international class as a chatter-up of the opposite sex! In addition to presenting sporting programmes such as Sport on 2 and Sports Report, he was chairman of innumerable quiz shows like Sporting Chance, Treble Chance or Brain of Sport.
He also commentated on other sports including rowing and, of course, swimming where he shone at many Olympic or Commonwealth Games, one of them producing the following classic phrase: ‘Welcome to the Olympic pool where an enthusiastic crowd are cheering the exciting races which are taking place. I’ve never seen such excitement. It’s the pool that sets them alight!’
Brian Moore retired as a football commentator after leading the ITV commentary team at the 1998 World Cup Final in France.
BBC’s first Association Football Correspondent in 1963, who went across to the other side, was Brian Moore. He went reluctantly at the time and tried hard to get a satisfactory contract with BBC Television, but failed. Not that he should worry now. He is ITV’s number one commentator and presenter and is judged by many experts to be the best of the lot – either on BBC or ITV. His skill at both commentary and presentation is perhaps best illustrated by ITV’s choosing him – their best commentator – to be their home-based presenter and conductor of their panel of experts throughout the 1982 World Cup.
Brian is different from most commentators who, as I have said, are on the whole extrovert and outwardly, at least, supremely confident. Brian is exactly the opposite. He is modest, diffident and retiring and claims to be afraid of meeting people. Not for him the sporting scene of receptions and dinners – if he can gracefully avoid it. He says that he had an inferiority complex when he won a scholarship to Cranbrook School, because his father was a farm worker. But in spite of it, he didn’t do too badly. He became captain of the school, cricket and hockey, and then got a commission in the RAF during his national service. So beneath that friendly, rather sad smile must be a lot of guts and steely determination to succeed in whatever he tries to do.
Why then, without the usual trappings of the successful commentator, has Brian become one of the top commentators in the country? Mainly because he has the vital factor of knowing his soccer and in a calm way commentates on the game with fairness and impartiality, and without too much of the frequently overdone excitement and shouting. When conducting a panel of experts he defers humbly to them and doesn’t impose his own opinion too strongly, while remaining firmly in control.
So Brian is an extremely rare bird among commentators. What’s more he is a very nice person. But thank goodness like all of us he is human and does make mistakes, as when he told the television viewers: ‘It’s just a sea of voices here at the moment.’ During another game he said: ‘This is going to be a very long 30 minutes with 26 minutes left.’ And finally: ‘The referee is now looking at his whistle, and will blow his watch at any moment!’
If I were asked to nominate the commentator with the sexiest voice I think that I would choose Gerald Williams. He is a Welshman, but in his long absence from Wales he has lost most of his Welsh accent, though the lilt is still there. But his voice is sympathetic and has a beguiling and cajoling air which in his interviews draws out confidences – and sometimes indiscretions – from the stars of the tennis world.
He started life as a journalist when he left west Wales to come to London. He wrote for a number of newspapers not just on tennis but also on football. He finally became the lawn tennis correspondent of the Daily Mail. When he left the Mail he did commentaries for ITV on both soccer and tennis, until he joined BBC Radio in the early 1970s and became their first ever lawn tennis correspondent. At first he did interviews and reports but has gradually become one of the BBC’s top commentators. He developed his skills during his many assignments abroad where he has covered all the major overseas championships and tournaments. He has not got the speed of a Max Robertson but scores heavily with his great knowledge of the game and its administration, and even more important from his obviously close relationship with so many of the players.
As I write he is probably most admired for his interviewing, when, as I’ve said, he seems able to draw more out of his ‘victims’ than the other interviewers. In commentary he has learned the art of slipping in remarks between rallies which build up the tennis scene beyond just the game on the court. It can be a comment on the character of one of the players, picking out the wife or boyfriend watching, or just a throw-away remark about the weather or the strawberries and cream. It all helps to build up the Wimbledon atmosphere.
And yes, he has made a gaffe or two, such as: ‘There are two Jonas Strenssons on the tour, but this is the one whose name we will get most used to hearing.’ I heard another one myself during the 1982 Wimbledon. He was commentating on a ladies’ doubles in which Pam Shriver was playing. She was suddenly stung by a wasp. It had obviously got inside her dress and Pam was peeping down her cleavage to try to find it. As she was looking down, Gerald – to fill in time – innocently remarked to Christine Truman apropos of Pam and her partner: ‘They are a fine pair, aren’t they?’