‘It’s hard to believe that a year has passed,” expresses Malcolm Prince, the producer of Paul O’Grady’s enduring Sunday teatime show. Reflecting on the challenging year, Prince admits, “It’s been incredibly tough. I hesitate to admit how tumultuous it has been.” The sudden onset of cardiac arrhythmia took the world by surprise. Over the years, O’Grady had authentically portrayed himself to the public as a blend of humor, wit, outspokenness, and empathy. He wore many hats – a comedian, a gameshow host, an animal enthusiast, a political activist, and an LGBTQ+ trailblazer. The breadth of O’Grady’s appeal sparked debates about his legacy posthumously. Even ITV’s recent documentary, “The Life and Death of Lily Savage,” barely scratches the surface of O’Grady’s multifaceted life, choosing instead to focus on his drag persona.
In conversations with various individuals for this feature, the prevailing sentiment was to highlight O’Grady’s unwavering loyalty as a friend. “He was a captivating storyteller,” reminisces TV and radio personality Amanda Holden, who partnered with O’Grady as an advocate for Battersea Dogs Home. “I struggle to recall recent events, and then he would recount tales from his club days, leaving me in awe of his memory, especially considering his lifestyle back then. I adored him. His contact is still saved in my phone. I can’t bring myself to delete it.”
“When I first met Paul, he resided in his flat at Victoria Mansions in Vauxhall,” recalls his friend and former costume designer Martin Owen-Taylor. “It was a delightful place to visit. Despite being a small ex-council flat, the kitchen spanned one wall, with a built-in wardrobe. None of the wardrobe doors could shut due to the overflow of drag attire spilling out across the kitchen. Sequin fabrics and fluff were strewn everywhere, necessitating careful navigation.”
Owen-Taylor’s initial encounter with O’Grady occurred at the Black Cap pub in Camden, nearly a decade after O’Grady had commenced his . Having returned from Australia, where he designed costumes for the local drag scene in Perth, centered around the town’s sole gay club named Connections situated above a kebab shop, Owen-Taylor began mingling with performers at the Black Cap, showcasing his creations. “Nikkie Vixen was the first drag artist to entrust me with costume-making,” he recounts. “The second was Regina Fong. Subsequently, I crafted the third dress in Britain for Lily Savage.”
During this period, Savage was expanding beyond her club circuit renown. While her enduring residency at the Vauxhall Tavern in south London had garnered a fervent following, O’Grady aspired to greater heights. “Upon our first meeting, Paul had rented a theater at his own expense,” Owen-Taylor recounts. “He was exploring new possibilities and audience reach. He and [his partner-manager Brendan Murphy] aimed for loftier ambitions.”
This ambition led them to the Edinburgh Festival, where Savage earned a nomination for the prestigious Perrier award. Following his return to London, O’Grady graced the stage at Hackney Empire’s Best of the Fest event, where he crossed paths with Brenda Gilhooly, then performing as Page 3 personality Gayle Tuesday. “After my performance, a man in the wings complimented my act,” Gilhooly shares. “His strong Liverpudlian accent led me to realize midway through our conversation, ‘Oh my God, are you Lily Savage?’ You never anticipate that a chance encounter will blossom into a lifelong friendship, do you? But that’s precisely what happened. We became inseparable. When he embarked on tours, he invited me as a supporting act.”
Recalling the tour experience, Gilhooly remarks, “It’s poignant; I saw Paul about three weeks before his passing. He prepared these retro sandwiches for us, reminiscent of World War II rations. White bread with canned salmon, accompanied by a cup of tea. Alcohol never crossed our minds. Yet during the tour, we found ourselves frequently hungover, pledging each night to abstain from revelry, only to end up inebriated. We’d be sprawled in our outfits backstage, on the floor, before the show. As soon as the music commenced, we’d spring up like puppets.”
During this period, she witnessed O’Grady’s theatrical flair. “We performed in these 2,000-seat theaters, all sold out nationwide. One evening, I entered the dressing room to find Paul declaring, ‘I’m not going on.’ The wig came off, followed by the beads. ‘What about the audience?’ I implored. Paul retorted, ‘Forget them. Forget _them!_’ I was in a frenzy. Yet, two minutes later, he relented, ‘Fine, I’ll go on.’ Post-performance, he’d engage with fans at the bar, taking photos and mingling. It became a familiar routine. His outbursts were never genuine.”
“He possessed a gruff demeanor, yet he spoke his mind,” Gaby Roslin recollects. “There was no sugar-coating. He’d stroll in each morning exclaiming, ‘What ungodly hour is this? Oh my God,’ owing to his nocturnal inclinations over early mornings.” Roslin partnered with O’Grady during his transition to mainstream success, as Savage assumed the role of a presenter on The show “introduced Lily to a new generation,” Roslin reflects. “Previously, those familiar with Lily had a distinct perception, but on our show, she showcased a blend of mischief and genuine affection for all age groups.”
This phase of The Big Breakfast was characterized by a warm camaraderie between Roslin and Savage. “He nicknamed me ‘Gaby Roselyn the Tooting Tassle-Twirler’,” Roslin chuckles. “I even portrayed her in the Lily Savage Show. My children once colored my roots black in a photograph, where I lounged with a lager can, feet up, while my kids erupted in laughter.”
However, success did not temper O’Grady’s acerbic wit. “I recall him sharing how, despite hosting a TV show, he struggled to secure a mortgage for a decent abode,” Owen-Taylor recounts. “They insisted on a guarantor. So, he enlisted Ian McKellen and Elton John. ‘There you go, a multimillionaire global pop icon and a knight of the realm vouching for me,’ he quipped.”
As Savage’s popularity soared, O’Grady made a pivotal decision to shed the persona and establish himself as an individual. “He casually mentioned his intention to retire Savage during one of our conversations,” Owen-Taylor reveals, having crafted over 300 costumes for the character by then. “It caught me off guard since I was geared up for annual costume creations. Yet, his rationale resonated with me. After a decade-plus in the gay scene and a similar tenure on television, the toll was evident. The elaborate makeup, costumes, and wigs demanded significant effort and continuity. Observing others breeze into work, spending a mere 20 minutes in the makeup chair before facing the camera, he aspired to that ease. With his talent, he pursued a new path. It marked a poignant loss for the gay scene, but we have the archives.”
“Much of Lily’s persona stemmed from Paul himself,” reflects Gilhooly. “While an act, it undeniably mirrored his authentic humor both on and off stage.”
Remarkably, O’Grady’s career as himself soon eclipsed his Savage persona. He headlined shows on ITV and Channel 4 for several years, dispelling any doubts about his candor as himself – exemplified in , where O’Grady fervently critiques the Tories, rousing his studio audience akin to a fervent Les Mis ensemble.
During this period, O’Grady collaborated with Sandi Toksvig on a sitcom titled Nellie and Melba, where he portrayed Sheila Hancock’s son. “I’ve co-written with various individuals, but this was unique,” Toksvig reflects. “Paul would share handwritten musings, like likening his mother to ‘Eleanor of Aquitaine with a chip pan.’ Sometimes, he’d expound on ideas during our meetings, and I’d hastily jot them down, later attempting to translate them into a coherent script.” Although Nellie and Melba never materialized on screen, Toksvig laments, “When the powers-that-be made the regrettable decision to shelve the series, Paul’s ensuing diatribe showcased a masterful and colorful command of expletives. I rue not transcribing it.”
Nonetheless, O’Grady’s commitments extended to hosting his own show on Radio 2. “Radio was his enduring passion,” Prince reveals. “He dedicated 14 years to it, spanning over 1,000 hours on air. He cherished the medium, understanding the intimate connection with the solitary listener at home. He possessed a natural flair, requiring no formal training. It was an innate skill.”
On his Radio 2 show, Prince evolved into one of O’Grady’s enduring collaborators. “Initially, I remained silent when referenced on air,” Prince shares. “Yet, a technical glitch one day led to me inadvertently speaking on air, and that sparked a dynamic. He encouraged banter, teasing me, and vice versa. Reflecting on Lily Savage’s penchant for engaging with audience members at the Vauxhall Tavern, I adopted a similar role.”
O’Grady and Prince’s partnership was so seamless that when O’Grady departed the station, Prince followed suit. “I consider myself fortunate, as working relationships don’t always translate to personal rapport. I now reside near Paul’s residence, a mere 17 minutes away. He’d drive over in his Mini, pop in with his dog, savor tea, and relish a slice of cake. It was delightful. Truly delightful.”
The duo embarked on a new venture with a show on Boom radio. In the final stages of preparation, Prince paid O’Grady a visit. “I spent two hours with him on the day he passed,” Prince recollects. “We conversed, deliberated on various topics as usual, and he expressed his enthusiasm for the upcoming Boom project. The next day, as the medics entered, the microphone remained poised for the inaugural episode.”
“I deeply miss him,” Gilhooly admits, her voice wavering. “Beyond his exceptional comedic talent, he was a remarkable, delightful individual – a truly lovely human being and a cherished friend. A cup of tea with him was as entertaining as any performance. He was an extraordinary man.”
“Recently, I landed a new show,” Roslin shares. “I used to consult Savage about new projects – I always referred to him as Savage. So, when I instinctively reached for the phone to seek his counsel, a moment of realization hit me. I know he’s watching over me. He always joked about haunting everyone, keeping a vigilant eye on us. He knew the depth of our affection, as after every call, I’d profess, ‘You know how much I love you,’ to which he’d reply, ‘You know I love you too. Now, bugger off.’”