Roger Whittaker dies

 Roger Whittaker

In a world where war, revolution, outrageously unacceptable behaviour, anarchy, dissent and deceit rules the roost, Roger Whittaker was as honest, law abiding and respectable as it's possible to be. He was a gentleman and warmly lyrical folk singer, totally relaxed and a man who seemed to take enormous pleasure in his work. Whittaker was laid back, utterly contented with life, a TV national treasure, record chart topper and the unlikeliest of pop stars. He never frequented sleazy London nightclubs, very rarely touched alcohol on a consistent basis and never attracted scandal of any description. He was a paragon of virtue and immaculately behaved. He sadly died at the age of 87.

While the rest of the 1970s was rationalising with miners strikes, industrial unrest, power cuts and a general malaise within government circles in Westminster, our Roger was crooning away. It was the age of glam rock, Mud, Sweet, the Reubettes, the Bay City Rollers, tartan clad and hysterical airports, David Cassidy, Van McCoy and a whole multitude of hits that veered from the sublime to the ridiculous. And then there was Roger Whittaker, a quiet, modest and poetic soul with a penchant for uplifting songs about places and nostalgic reflections on the past.

Roger Whittaker once appeared on the Top of the Pops and some of us could hardly believe what we were watching. Of course Whittaker was a consummate musician and wordsmith, a stylist and purist who always believed that songs should always have meaning, feeling and richly redemptive sentiments that most of us could hum and chant in the shower or bath. But Whittaker was the epitome of professionalism, never selling either his fans or anybody else short with a cheap three minute song full of political overtones or controversial content.

Comparisons with his fellow balladeer Val Doonican may seem entirely fitting since both Whittaker and Doonican were never adversely affected by the acclaim and adulation that might have turned lesser stars into pampered prima donnas. The Irish blarney that Doonican offered to Saturday nights on BBC 1 never disappointed any of us because here was a man who just wanted to invite you into his world with heart warming folk ditties, homespun stories and songs that comforted us throughout those long, dark winter nights.

And that's where Roger Whittaker accompanied Doonican, a singer with similar mannerisms and styles. Whittaker was never happier than on the stage, reaching out to his audiences with soft and gently inoffensive anecdotes, songs from the heart, songs designed for uncles, aunties, parents and grandparents and not a hint of vulgar profanity in any of his compositions. He remained without any sign of being star struck, never took drugs, always sure that family came first and foremost and left the politicians to make rash and inexplicable decisions.

The songs were tenderly delivered, appealing in their ability to make us feel good about life and rarely going off on some strange tangent that didn't seem to make any sense. The age of punk rock was in its infancy but Whittaker was never a man for black leather jackets, safety pins in his nose, Doc Martens on his feet or loud displays of wildly aggressive posturing or somebody incensed with the Establishment.

Whittaker, in the summer of 1975, captured our hearts with 'The Last Farewell', a song that would never have been even considered by the Clash or the Sex Pistols. It was a song about ships sailing into a golden sunset and smooth references about dear old England. There was something almost confessional and confidential about Whittaker where everything in the world was good and even when they weren't, they still had the potential to take us into the promised land.

Whittaker never really moved away from his folk roots and the appearance was always one of calm self possession, at ease with his audience and smiling seemingly permanently because he knew how much enjoyment he was deriving from his performances. Then there was a song called 'Durham Town', which graphically described this North Eastern England town. Whittaker may have been brought up in Nairobi, Kenya but there must have been something about Durham which prompted him to create lovely word pictures about County Durham.

And then there was the delightful Skye Boat Song with TV star and singer Des O' Connor, a song that did so much to enhance his status as family entertainer. There were  those of us of who could easily identify with Roger Whittaker. The Skye Boat Song also featured Whittaker whistling to his heart's content. How many of us have caught ourselves whistling a song in the shower without knowing why but happy all the same? Never had the 1970s music scene seen anything quite so enchanting, a class apart from anything in the pop music charts. It reached the number two spot for ages and was about as far removed from anything else on vinyl or tape.

So this morning Britain laments the passing of one of its greatest story tellers, a musician through and through and a man who gave us re-assurance when the world may have looked like falling apart and never forgot his roots. Roger Whittaker deserves all the homages that have now been deservedly extended to him. He leaves behind him a family who must have adored him and a public who will never forget his sterling contribution to the world of both folk and pop music in Britain. RIP Roger Whittaker.