THE old time safe blowers used to get their nitroglycerin by boiling dynamite.
The nitro would float to the surface of the hot water. This is a very dangerous procedure. A side effect from this cooking was the fumes given off gave the criminal a bad headache, which they called Bang Head.
I suffer from Bang Head because I have to use a nitro spray for angina attacks. This little spray has replaced the nitroglycerin pills we’ve seen many times in films. Remember the chap clutching his chest saying "My pills, my pills." Well, they were nitro glycerin. The reason I mention this is because although the stuff is nitroglycerin I’ve never been stopped at customs with it. I’ve been stopped with a can of lighter fuel boarding a flight to Florence. On the same flight I wasn’t allowed to take a long plastic tube container as cabin luggage. When I inquired why, I was told I could hit the pilot over the head with it. I reluctantly had to accept this argument. I was more than a little miffed when boarding the plane to see the guy in front of me was carrying a hockey stick. Of course he wouldn’t clobber the pilot. It wouldn’t be sporting, would it?
On another occasion I was patted down by the customs officer who felt a knife in my pocket. He looked me in the eye and said "penknife". Then to show his expertise added "Swiss Army penknife."
I would not have been surprised if he’d told me the colour. I know most are red but mine is black. Then looking pleased with himself, he waved me through. That would, of course, not happen now. Travellers are being stopped with peanut butter and chutney. My daughter Louise was stopped with Christmas crackers and made to crack them all before being allowed on the plane. Liz sent her some replacement snaps through the post.
Coming back through Berlin customs, on the X-ray they spotted a metal tube in my case. I had to unpack it. They were curious as to what it was. It was a huge pewter clyster. I offered to show them how it worked, then told them it was, in fact, a large vet’s enema syringe. My offer was declined.
At that time all my devices involved pyrotechnics which was a problem when I had to do a TV show in Geneva. I was told I was on my own if I got caught with pyrotechnics at customs. I got through and we did the show. Sylvester McCoy did his fire breathing act. I remember him standing on set asking where the paraffin was. The floor manager said: "Didn’t you bring it with you?"
Sylvester replied: "A can of paraffin on the plane. Are you nuts?" or words to that effect. He was somewhat bemused because earlier the conductor of the Swiss orchestra had asked him what key he played his spoons in.
When I had to fly back to Berlin, the customs guy asked if I’d anything electrical in my case. I replied I had a battery-powered trembling chicken. I didn’t mention it was also called a Hen Grenade. He put the case on the X-ray machine. You could see the chicken but you could also see, concealed in the toe of one of my boots, my electric igniters. He was so fascinated with the chicken he didn’t spot them.
During the Jonathan Ross series Fantastic Facts I had to go again to Berlin with Liz to do some voice-overs for another of my great failures, Wilf And The Sumo Slugs.
On the Ross show I blew something up nearly every week. The customs guy must have seen the show because he looked at me, looked at my case and said: "I’m not opening that, it might explode." Liz and I walked off gobsmacked.
I once tried to use the customs to help me get out of a gig. I’d given a talk to a group of Irish Architecture students. They invited me to go over to Ireland to give the same talk. The only stipulation was not to use the exploding hat with the British Flags. That’ll give you an idea of feelings in Ireland at the time. Coupled with this I was to give the talk at Warren Point where 18 soldiers had been killed and on the same day at Sligo Lord Louis Mountbatten was killed.
Kath Evans begged me not to go. These were bad times in Northern Ireland. I thought, no problem, the police won’t let me go with my pyrotechnics. I went and asked them, fully believing they’d stop me, but no, as far as they were concerned it was all right with them, it was down to the customs. So I went to the customs people and they said because I had a licence in Britain and Northern Ireland was part of Britain there was no problem. I couldn’t believe it. They said I could go to Ireland carrying detonators and gunpowder etc.
In the end I couldn’t find a legitimate excuse so I just said "no". I once looked at my script for a show and all it said was Wilf Explosion. They didn’t seem to be bothered what I did as long as it ended with an explosion. The set shifters would take bets on whether the thing would work or I’d end up in hospital which I did on two occasions. I did four types of explosions – a crack, a bang, a big bang and a dull boom. Dull booms were best outside. If I did one inside it was advisable to open all the windows because the pressure wave could blow them out. It was also best to advise the audience to open their mouths. So it was extremely dodgy and not very practical.
The last one I used was long ago at the Theatre Royal Stratford East when they were celebrating West Ham winning The Cup. I don’t know what The Cup was, but they were every pleased to win it.
I was booked to do my escapology act. This involved escaping from a metal ball chained to my head apparently full of explosives. On the count down Sylvester confused matters by starting the count down at one and counting up. Dull booms were wrapped in lots of string to increase the blast. This meant that after the explosion there were smouldering bits of string flying around. One piece must have landed on the piano stool because the pianist burned his bum when he sat down for the next act.
You may think I’m fond of explosions but I’m not. I try to avoid too many. Two or three bangs in a show are quite enough. I prefer none.
On Rolf On Saturday they overdid it when they insisted on rehearsing with bangs and doing lots of retakes with bangs. We ended up with 250 kids crying from shellshock.
Only two groups of folks end up ‘punchy’ – boxers and rodeo brahma bull riders.
It looked as though me and my partner Ian were going punchy with all the explosions. This culminated when we were in the gents toilet. The neon light flashed. Instantly we were both on floor. Our nerves were going.
After that I only took what was needed for the final take, nothing for rehearsals or retakes. That’s how I ended up being called One take Wilf.
Wilf's autobiography to the age of 11, My Best Cellar, can be bought at Waterstones or via his website www.wilflunn.com
