Let the orchestra play.

Let the orchestra play.

Last night an enthusiastic audience gathered together to applaud and celebrate the brilliant BBC Philharmonic Orchestra on an evening of childhood memories, rheumy eyed nostalgia and lovely old tunes from the movies. They clapped, cheered, swayed their arms and generally abandoned themselves to a good, old fashioned evening of light entertainment. It was an evening designed not only to take you back but also to leave you there the widest grin and broadest of smiles.

The venue was the London Palladium, that bastion of celebrity and showbiz, a veritable jukebox of all those great show standards we've all either watched on TV, heard on the radio or just been transfixed by in the cinema. Sometimes  there are West End shows that leave you glowing with the feelgood factor, shows capable of elevating you to that highest summit of pleasure. It could hardly have failed to work on any level because we were all children once and for those who believe in such things will always retain that childish wonder, a throwback to the days when the boys used to play football in the streets and roads while the girls skipped. Halcyon days indeed.

It was though it was one of those eye opening evenings when nothing seemed to matter but the orchestra on stage. Very rarely do we take our hats off to the mellifluous sounds of a major orchestra. Of course there is the yearly summer Proms jamboree and throughout the year the likes of the Royal Festival and the Royal Albert Hall in London frequently caress our ears with those classical pieces of music that have always stood the test of time. Some of the world's greatest composers from centuries gone by are given the most richly nuanced interpretations by note perfect orchestras.

So what did we have like. The BBC Philharmonic Orchestra, fully suited and booted, smart black suits all moving together in blissful unison, childhood movie songs washing over the Palladium like the gentlest shower and beautiful arrangements of the tunes we've all come to hold so dear over the years. There was something deeply moving and engaging about an orchestra who seemed to harmonise perfectly in time to the mood of the evening. It was an evening of perfect arpeggios, pizzicatos and breathless upbeat tempos that flowed from the Palladium stage rather like the sweetest sounding stream.

There was that huge assembly of violinists, sweeping and sometimes weeping with joy, their hands gliding across their strings with an almost telepathic understanding of each others movement. There were trumpets and pianos almost instinctively honking and tinkling as if trying to communicate a message of hope and redemption in a world where some would rather use the gun and bomb as their chosen instruments.

Throughout this two hour special, we were transported to that quintessentially childish world of Harry Potter, where wizards, schools and children with magical powers have suddenly heralded a new dawn of childhood innocence and fantastical escapism. There were numerous references to the wondrous, mystical world of Harry Potter and as the modern generation continue to devour JK Rowling's masterpieces we could only watch on, as BBC Radio 2 played the full repertoire of the film's instantly identifiable tunes.

The chief narrator for the night was Hugh Bonneville, an actor of polished delivery and diction with  clear and articulate introductions of the songs we all loved and continue to love. Bonneville was word perfect, measured and, from time to time, humorous when he needed to be. But there was one childhood movie that did resonate with me personally and something that took me on a particularly intriguing trip down memory lane.

As a child I can remember my parents taking me to see Hans Christian Andersen, starring Danny Kaye at, if memory serves me correctly, the London Palladium. My mum, a lifelong devotee of Danny Kaye was unashamedly a Danny Kaye fan who adored Kaye. And yet Hans Christian Andersen was somehow a metaphor for everything that childhood represented, an iconic figure with a light hearted zest for life.

Danny Kaye was a funny, often hilarious comedian, film comic of some stature and distinction and reducing most of his audiences to gales of laughter. And yet most of the songs from Kaye's distinctive songbook took me on a truly evocative journey back to that distant late 1960s day at the London Palladium.

I can remember feeling enthralled by Hans Christian Andersen, the ornate grandeur of the Palladium, the royal boxes with their velvety seats, decorative furnishings and the abiding air of history about the place. Besides, the Palladium was the theatre that left my dad in hysterics when Jack Benny once walked out onto stage after the war and said nothing for quarter of an hour. It was the music hall capital of the world where the likes of Flanagan and Allen spoke about life 'Underneath the Arches', the Royal Variety Performance had hosted regular performances from showbiz royalty such as Bob Hope, Max Bygraves, Sir Bruce Forsyth, Tommy Trinder and the finest exponents of their craft.

While growing up I was reminded every so often that the Palladium meant something special, a building that gave me a tantalising glimpse of what the world be like as seen through the youngest of eyes. Childhood films and those timeless songs have accompanied me constantly through to the present day and last night it felt as if the worlds of Harry Potter, Hans Christian Andersen and Jungle Book had never left me. They were the lifelong childhood standards that can never ever be forgotten and for which I'll certainly be for ever grateful.