Sykes: Making a nation chuckle

To celebrate the release of Sykes: The Complete Series being released on DVD, we take a look at what made the series so iconic.

How Denis Norden stumbled upon concentration camp

TV presenter and comedy writer Denis Norden has spoken for the first time about his "accidental" visit to the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp.

Norden, who was serving in the RAF during World War Two, went to the liberated camp in northern Germany to find lighting for a show he was putting on.

He went with fellow performers the late Eric Sykes and Ron Rich and none of them had any idea what the camp had been used for.

The Barry Cryer extended interview

Barry Cryer is an incredibly popular entertainer, raconteur and a writer, but don't you dare call him a legend! Martin Walker talks to the great man himself about David Frost, Kenny Everett, John Cleese, Michael McIntyre, Susan Calman, Eric Sykes and Ken Dodd. But first they talk about Twittering On, the show he's performing at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe with Colin Sell.

The Tommy Cooper thing, Not Like That, Like This, winningly scripted by Simon Nye, told the tale of guess who? A grand piece of ever-rewatchable television, for whom most plaudits will so rightly go to David Threlfall, who simply channelled Cooper: he made you practically smell Chiswick in the 60s, and the BBC lino, and twitch along with every bursting blood-vessel in first his nose and later heart. But very honourable mentions go to Amanda Redman and the ever-splendid Gregor Fisher, playing so against type as to surely require near-physical contortions. And to Paul Ritter, who played Eric Sykes, and got the wisest line of the night, after Cooper drunkenly explained the difference between his two loves, comedy and magic. Sykes saw a different version of two loves, Cooper being at that stage torn between wife Dove and mistress Mary. "So Dove is your comedy, and Mary is your magic." A difficult, heartbreaking man, and ditto piece of television.

Eric Sykes left £485,794 in his will

Veteran comic Eric Sykes, who died aged 89 in 2012, left £485,794 in his will.

Eric Sykes blue plaque unveiled at west London office

A blue plaque has been unveiled to mark the office comedian Eric Sykes shared with Spike Milligan for more than 50 years in west London.

Cue! Eric Sykes

This Christmas Radio 4 and Radio 4 Extra pay tribute to Eric Sykes, one of the great English comedians who died earlier this year. Here, Radio 4 Extra producer Mik Wilkojc talks about working with Eric Sykes and previews some of the coming programmes.

As seen on The Late Great Eric Sykes, three days before he died in the summer, aged 86, Eric Sykes told his agent Norma Farnes that what he'd like more than anything would be the chance to pop into Orme Court one last time.

This was his office in London's Bayswater, and having been fortunate enough to share an hour in his company there, I knew what the place meant to him. In the 1960s it had been a fun factory, with top gagsmiths firing jokes at each other across the hallway. Comedy was a serious business for these guys with Sykes and Spike Milligan failing to agree where to position a "the" for maximum laughs and the latter settling the matter with a lobbed paperweight.

When I visited Orme Court, I noticed that Milligan, who had been dead three years, still had a pigeon-hole and what's more he had mail. I hope Sykes' ­pigeon-hole remains active although he's pretty much the last of his generation. Almost all his associates featured in The Late Great Eric Sykes, including Tommy Cooper, Frankie Howerd, Peter Sellers and regular co-stars Hattie Jacques and Derek Guyler, are gone. Guyler played Corky, the bumbling bobby, and typically Corky would say "Hello, hello, what's all this then?" and Eric would say "Don't come dashing in here like Starsky and Hutch!" He was being ironic, of course. No one did any dashing in Sykes' comedy.

Farnes took us on a tour of the office, which seems to have been left untouched. Sykes fired his gags from a big Sherman tank of a desk. There was the cupboard where he kept his cigars, latterly just for sniffing. And there was the photograph of his mother. She died giving birth to him, at least this was what he was told, and he bore much guilt for that. But she was his inspiration. In a clip from an old interview he said: "When I'm in trouble or a bit down I've only got to think of her." The photo's position in direct eyeline from the Sherman was deliberate. "Eric was absolutely certain that she guarded and guided him," said Farnes.

Sykes didn't have a catchphrase and his style wasn't loud or look-at-me. His heroes were Laurel and Hardy who no one mentions anymore, which seems to be the fate of practitioners of gentle comedy (notwithstanding that with Stan and Ollie or Eric around, there was a high probability of being hit on the head with a plank). Denis Norden, one of the few old chums not yet potted heid, described him as diffident, and not surprisingly it was the gentle comedians of today who queued up to sing his praises (no sign of Frankie Boyle). ­Eddie Izzard rhapsodised about him getting a big toe stuck in a bath-tap; Michael Palin said: "He just did the things you'd see your dad do, or someone in a ­garage." And right at the end Farnes recalled Eric's reaction to the dramatic revelation that his mother had actually hung on for a week after he was born: "So she did hold me!"

If you're a fan of, say, Keith Lemon or some such terrifyingly trendy comedian, your perspective on Harry Enfield and Paul Whitehouse is probably similar to the way Eric Sykes was viewed in his later years (Were they funny? Are they still alive?). Well, call me old-fashioned, but I love them. As they've got older, their comedy has got more ripe, more melancholy, more grumpy and, in the choicest sketches, funnier.

Apologies for the namedropping in this week's column, but I remember Whitehouse telling me he didn't realise The Fast Show gang were undergoing a collective mid-life crisis until he watched back the final instalments. Harry & Paul has picked up this theme, adding nice layers of bafflement and reactionary attitude. It's as if everything the pair have done in their careers has been building to the moment - oh blessed relief! - when they could affix ginormous codger's ears, sit in high-back leather armchairs and bluster to each other: "Would you say this one was... quare?"

For the new series they introduced the Minor Royals and some boasting, self-mythologising Irish New York cops (who get outdone by a boasting, self-mythologising Irish New York firefighter). They continued to spoof TV itself with send-ups of Question Time and The Killing - all highly promising. But I think my favourite character is still Marcus who sells useless tat at exorbitant prices to posh thickos.

Despite his fame and success, it's not difficult to cast Eric Sykes - who died earlier this year at the age of 89 - as the unsung hero of post-war British comedy. Unlike his sometime cohorts Tony Hancock and Spike Milligan, he was never wholly taken to the nation's bosom. There are no stories, as there are of Hancock's Half Hour, of the pubs clearing as everyone rushed home to catch his latest show. But none of this is to disparage a brilliant, raging comic mind that contributed to the Goon Show scripts, wrote for Hancock and developed his own TV show Sykes: a twisted kaleidoscope of '70s suburbia that ran from '72-'79 and pitched him against the formidable Hattie Jacques. Forming the basis for BBC2's Eric evening, The Late Great Eric Sykes promises contributions from Eddie Izzard, Russ Abbot, Michael Palin and Bruce Forsyth, with a screening of a classic Sykes episode and a 2001 Arena profile rounding things up. So pull up the floorboards and have your rhubarb at the ready!