All I got was a hamper, a bottle of wine and a farewell text from two of my bosses

Britain’s most popular radio host Ken Bruce on his ungrateful send-off after 46 years with the BBC...

As crazy as it still seems, Ken Bruce really has left the building. After hosting Radio 2’s weekday midmorning programme for more than three decades and being a presence on BBC radio for 46 years, Ken has flown the Beeb coop and moved to Greatest Hits Radio (GHR). We meet at their studios in central London, where Ken is nesting on a scarlet sofa in a snazzy meeting room, exuding his usual relaxed, dad-in-a-shed bonhomie. Today he’s dressed in jeans, woolly jumper and lace-up Skechers. ‘Old man trainers,’ he says, wiggling his feet to reveal waxen calves above his little black socks. Impossible to disagree!

Like a child with a new toy, Ken is itching to get upstairs to the studios to try the decks in his latest home. His first show on this commercial station will be broadcast on 3 April and fans can expect the same old Ken-magic; the smooth Ken-tones, the unthreatening Ken-music and almost the same Ken-quizzes. Tracks Of My Years has gone to the great pop puzzle bin in the sky (‘It was time,’ sighs Ken) but the much-loved

It’s not my job to do a political rant.ihaveviews onpoliticsof course,butthey arenotforpublic consumption

Popmaster will remain a fixture. This is because Ken was clever enough to trademark the format after introducing it on his show in 1998.

When the quiz became increasingly popular back then, Ken idly wondered if the BBC should apply for a protective trademark. Nobody was interested and bosses encouraged him to do it himself. This he dutifully did, paying a fee every year and sometimes wondering if it was worth the expense – but not any more! How very smart of him, particularly when one considers that BBC lawyers forbade Jeremy Clarkson from taking The Stig with him when he moved from Top Gear to The Grand Tour on Amazon Prime Video – despite the fact it was Clarkson himself who dreamed up the concept of the silent test driver and even gave him the name. Yet Ken shrugs off any suggestion he’s some kind of far-sighted entrepreneur. ‘I’m not exactly Alan Sugar. I’m not clever at this money stuff. In fact I’m not business-minded at all,’ he says.

Of course it’s not just Popmaster that the BBC has let slip through its fingers – it’s the mighty Ken himself. How could they be so careless? With a daily audience of more than eight million listeners, Ken Bruce is by far the most popular radio host in the UK. His voice has been a comforting presence in good times and bad, including a pivotal role in the BBC’S radio coverage of the funerals of both Prince Philip and the Queen.

‘It was a great honour,’ he says. Yet it also got him thinking – after this, had his career at the BBC peaked? ‘What more can I do here?’ he wondered.

Also, his latest two-year contract was up this month and when Christmas came and went without any approaches from BBC bosses, Ken decided it was time to move on. ‘I wanted it to be my decision,’ he says. ‘There was no pressure and I’ve been more appreciated in the last ten years at the BBC than I was in the first 25. But I decided to go.’ He quietly signed his new deal with GHR, told BBC bosses he was leaving, packed his trunk and said goodbye to the circus. Were they shocked? ‘I don’t know. These people are very good at hiding their emotions. I think I did surprise them, but the fact was I hadn’t been offered any continuation at that point. They then said, “Well, we were going to offer you another three years.”’

But it was too late. Panicked phone calls followed. ‘Can we do anything about this?’ pleaded station chiefs, complaining they hadn’t been given a chance to fight back. ‘But I didn’t want to get into a bidding war,’ says Ken. ‘To be honest, I wouldn’t feel happy taking more money from the BBC when a lot of people are losing their jobs. That’s not why I left anyway. I don’t do things just for money.’ Initially the Bruce-beeb divorce was civil and it was agreed that Ken would broadcast until the end of his contract. Then Radio 2 bosses booted him off the station two

weeks early. ‘That was disappointing. I thought, “Come on, you can trust me. I’m not going to do a Dave Lee Travis,”’ he says, of the EX-BBC DJ who bitterly resigned on air in 1993. ‘I’m not going to start badmouthing everybody, because I had a lovely time at the BBC. So it was all a bit... unnecessary.’

Did BBC top brass throw him a send-off dinner?

‘Hollow laugh,’ says Ken, with a hollow laugh. ‘No they didn’t. But they very kindly sent me a hamper from a wellknown London store.’ Fortnum & Mason! How lovely. Was it a big one? ‘No.’ Oh. ‘And I got a bottle of wine and a bunch of flowers.’

Very nice of course but dear God, you’d think they’d be a little more grateful. Ken is a national treasure who served the BBC for nearly half a century, bringing in huge audiences; not someone leaving after covering maternity leave for the boss’s secretary.

There was no metaphorical carriage clock, and even after his very last broadcast, scant congratulations from his bosses. One came down to the studio on his last day. The other two sent farewell text messages. ‘Both were apparently out of town at the time,’ says Ken politely. ‘I wasn’t looking for a big fuss.’

This gets worse by the minute. Farewell text messages! A bottle of wine, not even a case! I hope it was expensive, I say. ‘I’ve no idea what kind of wine it is. It’s still in the bag.’

It’s still in the bag! Unlike Ken, who’s stolen away into the night like a badger heading across a moonlit field. It’s hard to escape the suspicion the BBC took professional, diligent Ken Bruce for granted and he was overlooked and undervalued simply by being dependable and good at his job. And it’s hard not to admire his resolve, not to mention his refusal to fade into any encroaching decrepitude.

After all, at the age of 72 most people would be considering retiring or downsizing, not moving onto high-profile new challenges on the national airwaves. ‘Retiring? Absolutely not. That would be hopeless. I’ve still got children at school, you know, I can’t really stop,’ he says.

Over the years it’s fair to say Ken hasn’t confined his activities to broadcasting. He’s had three wives, six children – aged from 42 to 15 – and three grandchildren, all of which makes him sound a bit Rod

Stewart. ‘Yes, it does create a kind of image of Leslie Phillips, but that’s not really me. My marriages were all serial relationships and all very happy. My current relationship is the longest of all, we’ve been married for 23 years.’ Third wife Kerith is 16 years his junior and a former radio researcher he met when they were working together on the 1998 Eurovision Song Contest in Birmingham. They went on to have three children together: son Murray, 21, who is autistic and non-verbal, daughter Verity, 18, and son Charlie, 15.

All five live together in an Oxfordshire village, where they’ve had to put locks on all the bathrooms because Murray likes to turn on all the taps and leave them running. ‘It’s not a hardship, it’s not trouble. He used to run off when he was little, but he’s in the house all the time now and he’s sensible,’ says Ken.

Caring for Murray means that Ken and Kerith rarely go out as a couple – a snatched lunch together is a huge treat – but the family enjoy holidays en masse. Before lockdown they all went to Venice, this year they’re taking a Mediterranean cruise. Wherever they are, mocking Ken is a popular family hobby. ‘Oh there’s very little respect for me,’ he chortles. ‘You get to a certain age and the best person in the world to make fun of is your dad. Every time I fall asleep on the sofa they take a picture and post it on the family chat group. To them I’m just the old grump in the corner.’

Home is a detached, five-bedroom house in a quiet street. I’d imagined a sprawling villa by the Thames, but that’s far from the reality. ‘Look, I’ve been married three times and have six children. I’m lucky I have a roof over my head at all,’ says Ken. ‘It’s a nice house, but it isn’t a mansion.’ Ken once trained as an accountant and has few extravagances. ‘It’s fear, fear of being left with nothing, because I’m not very good with money,’ he says. He buys ‘decent’ cars, currently drives a Land Rover Discovery and was dismayed to note recently that under new terms of employment rules, cars are no longer tax deductible. When he starts at GHR next month he’ll have the same commute into London, first by train into Marylebone station and then onwards to a very different studio. There was a time in his life when Ken Bruce thought he’d never leave the BBC; he believed in BBC values and, unlike Gary Lineker, always accepted and understood the impartiality rules. ‘I joined the BBC in 1977 as an announcer. It was very clear right from the start that you don’t make personal comments. And now it’s not my job to do a political rant. I do have my views on politics of course, but they’re not for public consumption.’

Although on Radio 2 Ken always sounded relaxed and untroubled, things didn’t always run smoothly behind the scenes. He became used to working for an organisation where even huge audiences guaranteed nothing. All that mattered was your latest contract – and it was terrifyingly easy to fall out of favour. ‘It could be that the face suddenly doesn’t fit. Or something you might have said once. It could be as simple as that.’

He recalls a time at the BBC a few years ago when ‘I was a little bit less than popular upstairs. I got a distinct hint that things were moving away from me. On one occasion I was told this would be my last contract for daytime.’ A month later he was told the opposite. It sounds like torture.

‘That’s the nature of this business. You’re only as good as your last programme and your job is not to let it affect you.’

Ken thinks good radio presenters need to be ‘happy in their own company, selfstarters, and slightly introverted.’ After all, he says, the job involves sitting in a tiny room, often with padded walls, making yourself believe you’re talking to one person. ‘And I’m happy doing that. I’d do quite well in prison because I’m in my own little cell every day anyway.’

Does he think most of his BBC audience will follow him to GHR? ‘Some will. There’s no doubt about that. But I don’t know how many,’ he says, modest to the last. Perhaps all you need to know is that for someone who is most famously a radio voice, Ken Bruce is still popular enough to get recognised on a daily basis. On one of the last wintry afternoons making his journey home from the BBC studios, he was wearing a woolly hat and his spectacles, with only his nose showing above a thick scarf. ‘Hi Popmaster,’ said a fan at the train station. How did they know it was him? ‘It’s just this great hooter,’ says Ken, pointing to his nose. I think it’s something more than that. A lot more.

Good radio presenters need to be introverted. I’d do quite well in prison because I’m in my own cell every day