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Max Bygraves was at one time, at £500,000 a year, Britain's highest-paid performer. The public loved him for more than 50 years as a mischievously smiling raconteur, full-throated and sentimental singer, TV host and reluctant gameshow compere (his two years with Family Fortunes convinced him it was not his medium), and pantomime and pierhead star. Max Bygraves, who has died aged 89 after suffering from Alzheimer's disease, was an all-round entertainer: a mischievously smiling raconteur, a full-throated and sentimental singer, a television host and reluctant gameshow compere (his two years with Family Fortunes in the mid-1980s convinced him it was not his medium) and a pantomime and pierhead star. He always kept the persona of a cheerful cockney stevedore, smart-alecky but good-natured, with a reassuringly imposing presence and the sort of innocent bawdiness that would not upset old ladies. The persona was entirely suited to the voice suggesting syrup-soaked gravel, the expansive arm gestures and the chummily unemphatic manner which absolved jokes that in another mouth might have been offensive.
Bygraves, who has died aged 89, always had the persona of the old, rugged working class (though he survived its demise): the cheerful cockney stevedore, smart-alecky but good natured, with a reassuringly imposing presence and the sort of innocent bawdiness that would not upset old ladies. This image was entirely suited to the voice suggesting syrup-soaked gravel, the expansive arm gestures, the chummily unemphatic manner which absolved jokes that in another mouth might have been offensive. He was born Walter William Bygraves into a large family in Rotherhithe, south-east London, to Henry Bygraves, a prizefighter who became a docker, and his wife, Lilian. The family lived in a two-room flat and money could be scarce. "The hand-me-downs were never handed down because we wore them till they were threadbare," Bygraves wrote in one of his memoirs. Henry tended to fend off his young son's questions about life and sex with jokes. When, in early adolescence, the boy asked him why hair was beginning to grow around his crotch, his father told him it was God's punishment for his misdeeds: "You're turning into a coconut."
The stevedore persona was not all artifice. Bygraves grew up in an East End home in which a family of six slept in one bed; to make their poverty more tolerable they resorted to wisecracks. His father, a prizefighter who gave it up to become a casual docker, tended to fend off his young son's questions about life and sex with jokes. When, in early adolescence, Max asked him why hair was beginning to grow around his crotch, his father told him it was God's punishment for his misdeeds: "You're turning into a coconut." As he grew to his full commanding height, a dignified and humorous self-confidence became Bygraves's hallmark. He attended St Joseph's school, Rotherhithe, and sang with his school choir at Westminster Cathedral. When his father dressed him up in an old army cap, gave him a broom for a rifle and got him to sing a popular song in front of an audience of dockers, the collection for him was large enough to encourage the thought of a career in show business.
Because prize fights could sometimes earn his father £30 a week – a fortune for his time and his class – life for Max was relatively easy. As he grew to his full commanding height, a dignified and humorous self-confidence became his hallmark. He sang with his school choir at Westminster Cathedral and when his father dressed him up in his old first world war army cap, gave him a broom for a rifle and got him to sing the popular song Why Did I Join the Army? in front of dockers, the collections for him encouraged the thought of professional show business. However, after leaving school at the age of 14, he went into an advertising agency, WS Crawford, as a messenger boy, ferrying copy to newspapers and popping into the Holborn Empire to see variety acts whenever he could afford it. When the advertising industry slumped at the beginning of the second world war, he got a job as a carpenter's apprentice and built air-raid shelters. After being blown off a roof he was repairing during an air raid, he decided to volunteer for the RAF in 1940 and served as an airframe fitter for five years. He met a sergeant in the WAAF, Blossom Murray, and they married in 1942. Together, they had three children, Christine, Anthony and Maxine.
But when he left school at 14 he went into an advertising agency, WS Crawford, ferrying copy to newspapers and popping into the Holborn Empire to see variety acts whenever he could afford it. During the second world war, advertising slumped and he got a job as carpenter's apprentice instead, building air raid shelters. After being blown off a roof he was repairing during an air raid, he volunteered for the RAF, was made a fitter and met a WAAF, Blossom, whom he married in 1942. Together, they had a son and two daughters. Stationed near Kew, Bygraves started entertaining the troops and performed in pubs, doing impressions of Frank Sinatra, the Inkspots and Max Miller (earning him the nickname Max, which he kept). By the time the war ended, he had resolved to turn professional. At the Grand theatre, Clapham, he was spotted by the agent Gordon Norval who got him six weeks' work.
Stationed near Kew, he started entertaining in pubs with impressions of Max Miller, Frank Sinatra and the Inkspots. By the time the war ended, he had resolved to turn professional and tour London theatres with songs and gags. At the Grand theatre, Clapham, he was spotted by the agent Gordon Norval, who got him six weeks' work and then more and more. Further engagements followed but the going was hard. Despite their love of England, he and Blossom had just decided to emigrate to Australia when a letter arrived from the BBC asking him to repeat the audition act he had recently given. This earned him an appearance in the radio series They're Out, which featured other demobbed entertainers such as Spike Milligan, Jimmy Edwards, Frankie Howerd, Harry Secombe and Benny Hill.
The going was hard. Despite their love of England, he and Blossom had just decided to emigrate to Australia when a letter arrived from the BBC asking him to repeat the audition act he had recently given. He stayed and featured in the radio series They're Out, with other demobbed entertainers such as Spike Milligan, Jimmy Edwards, Frankie Howerd, Harry Secombe and Benny Hill. He went on to do a show called For the Fun of It with Howerd, made his first two films for the producer Arthur Dent, was seen by the leading impresario Val Parnell at Finsbury Park Empire and was asked to stand in for the ill comedian Ted Ray at the top London variety venue, the Palladium. In 1946 he did a touring revue, For the Fun of It, with Howerd. He then made his first films, Bless 'em All and Skimpy in the Navy (both 1949), and had another radio hit in the 1950s, performing in the comedy Educating Archie, written by Eric Sykes. He made a handful of films in that decade, taking the title role in the comedy Charley Moon (1956), in which he performed his single Out of Town, and appearing in Lewis Gilbert's social drama A Cry from the Streets (1958).
For many years the Palladium became something like his professional home – he appeared in 14 shows in 10 years, and eventually in 19 Royal Variety Performances. After the first of these, Judy Garland asked him to do shows with her in the US, where (wrongly) he did not expect his cockney humour to register. Meanwhile, the London Palladium had become something like his professional home. He made his debut there in 1950, after he was seen at the Finsbury Park Empire by the leading impresario Val Parnell and was asked to stand in for the comedian Ted Ray at the Palladium. He appeared in 14 shows there over a period of 10 years, and eventually starred in 19 Royal Variety Performances. After the first of these, in 1950, Judy Garland asked him to do shows with her at the Palace theatre in New York where, wrongly, he did not expect his cockney humour to register.
Though he may have been naturally laidback, he did work on the art of unforced pace. This came fully into its own after a confusion of props in a stage show which had attracted only a tiny audience. Bygraves took a single chair with its back to the audience and sat facing the crowd with his arms loosely draped over the chair back. His gags went over better than ever; henceforth his delivery was always apparently casual. Bygraves was naturally laidback and worked on perfecting the art of unforced pace on stage. After a confusion of props had hindered one of his shows, he took a single chair, with its back to the audience, and sat facing the crowd in a relaxed manner. His gags went over better than ever; from then on, his delivery was always apparently casual. He regarded his catchphrases as better value than a press agent, and lines such as "A good idea, son" and "I wanna tell you a story" became national property.
Like many variety big earners, he was sometimes taken for a ride by conmen but he also made some shrewd business decisions. He bought the rights of the improvident Lionel Bart's Oliver for £350, got more than his money back by making a record of one of its numbers, and farmed out another to Shirley Bassey with similar results. Many of his own songs, like You Need Hands, became bestsellers; for years he was the top-selling British recording artist, doing more than 30 gold discs. His catchphrases such as "A good idea, son" and "I wanna tell you a story", which he regarded as better value than a press agent, became national property. Like many variety big earners, Bygraves was sometimes taken for a ride but he also made some shrewd business decisions. His company Lakeview Music bought the rights to Lionel Bart's musical Oliver! for £350 and Bygraves made a fortune when he sold on the rights for £250,000. In 1960, he released his version of one of the musical's numbers, Consider Yourself. In the 50s, he had reached the Top 5 with the singles Meet Me on the Corner, You Need Hands/Tulips from Amsterdam and Fings Ain't Wot They Used to Be. Often nostalgic or comedic in tone (such as You're a Pink Toothbrush), Bygraves's recordings were also released in a series of crowd-pleasing "singalong" albums. He picked up 31 gold discs in total and was awarded the OBE in 1983.
In later years he settled to a routine of overseas show visits, especially in Australia and South Africa, which he had often visited before the end of apartheid, protesting that an entertainer should not concern himself with politics. Personally he was generous to family, friends and old associates and worked for theatre charities. He was awarded the OBE in 1983. Bygraves published a novel, The Milkman's on His Way, in 1977. His autobiography, I Wanna Tell You a Story, appeared the previous year, and further memoirs followed, including After Thoughts (1989), Max Bygraves: In His Own Words (1997) and Stars in My Eyes: A Life in Show Business (2002). In his later years he settled into a routine of overseas shows, especially in South Africa, which he had often visited before the end of apartheid, protesting that an entertainer should not concern himself with politics. Personally, he was generous to family, friends and old associates and worked for theatre charities. He relocated to Australia from Poole, Dorset, several years ago.
Blossom died last year. Blossom died in 2011. Bygraves is survived by his children and several grandchildren.
• Max Bygraves, singer and comedian, born 16 October 1922; died 31 August 2012 • Max (Walter Williams) Bygraves, entertainer, born 16 October 1922; died 31 August 2012