Being from an Irish family we always knew who the Irish entertainers of the day were; if ever Val Doonican, for instance, played locally the whole family would have to troop off to see him sing and entertain no matter where he played; my mother loved him; she hated “My Mammy” and would have hated “Father Ted” too if she’s lived to see it – in fact she hated anything that made a laugh of the Irish and nobody was allowed to tell an Irish joke any where near her and nobody ever risked it because she had ears like a shithouse rat.

One time we went to a night club to see Val Doonican in cabaret and it wasn’t till we got there and felt our way to the table we’d booked that we found that half of the family had to sit with our backs to the stage; it was eat a slice of food then look over your shoulder at the show.

Once in a while my mother would get to meet him so there was always a Val Doonican photograph around the house with his autograph on it; it didn’t take pride of place with the photo of the Pope and John Kennedy which were on the wall behind the “Child of Prague” but it was around; maybe tucked into the corner of the mirror over the fire place but nonetheless revered.

By the way I grew to full adulthood before I found out how the “Child of Prague” was actually pronounced – my mother and the rest of Dublin pronounced it Prayge!

Years later when I was working at Elstree Studios, which were run by Lew Grade’s ATV before the BBC moved in with Eastenders, I had to check in with reception on the first day of work to find out where my dressing room was and the fella in front of me at the reception desk was my friend Barry. At least I thought it was my friend Barry – it was actually Val Doonican.

When he faced me I said “Barry! What are you doing here?”

The last time I had seen Barry was in Manchester so it was a bit of a surprise.

Of course being Val Doonican and not my friend Barry, Val Doonican was confused.

“Barry!” I said “What’s the matter with you?”

He kind of screwed his face up and looked closely at me – there may have been an inkling of recognition as I am told that all of us Irish look the same. We have black hair, blue eyes and big smiles; if you get on a bus in Dublin you will see rows and rows of teeth, dimples and a load of black hair; in fact during those years people thought I looked like one of the Bachelors a famous Irish pop group of the time – even my mother said I looked like one of them but I didn’t; in fact I never knew which one of them I was supposed to resemble.

“Oh” I said to Val Doonican “It’s Val Doonican!”

“Yes” he said and we shook hands.

“Sorry about that” I said “I ..er… well.”

“That’s OK” he said “How are you?”

“I’m well” I said and that was that.

I worked at Elstree for about two weeks rehearsing something and, of course, I told my fellow members of the cast about my encounter with the world’s most famous Irishman of the time; once in a while Val, if I can call him that, came into the bar and stood with his people looking over to me and my people; his people being better known than my people, of course, but he would look over and laugh, maybe hold his drink up and “cheers” then carry on with his conversation:

“That fella there thought I was his friend.”

“Which fella where?’

“That fella there that looks like one of the Bachelors!”

“Oh him – that’s Barry’s friend!”