July 6, 2008
There have been two deaths this year which have made me realise that I really am getting on - the passing of two great men, both brilliant in their respective fields, both, incidentally, BBC men, both in their eighties, and both with names that, through no fault of their own other than the time of their birth, mean little or nothing to the generation below mine.
First to go was the unrivalled Humphrey Lyttleton, an apparently superbly talented jazz musician (I bow to the BBC and Wikipedia on this one; jazz and I are as friendly as would-be divorcees battling over who gets to keep the golden-egg laying goose) and tremendous wit - as presenter of Radio 4's I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue, he was certainly responsible on more than one occasion for almost making me veer into the central reservation due to shuddering laughter, and I'm sure I wasn't alone in that.
The other, Sir Charles Wheeler, died last week. And yes indeed, another absolute colossus in his field: journalism. Charles, who to me growing up was the wizened face of Panorama, with a crisp, sagacious delivery that unravelled the knots of international political intrigue in indefatigable style. This was a decorated military man who went on to join the BBC to then cover mere trifles like the communist former east Germany, the Dalai Lama fleeing Tibet, the political fallout of the Vietnam War and Nixon's Watergate debacle - before he settled into roaming the world to bring brilliant documentaries to our living rooms until the last couple of years of his distinguished life.
Lyttleton was 87; Wheeler 85. Both still revered among their peers, both still working right up until illness prevented them from doing so. Both described realistically as "unrivalled" and "irreplaceable", as surely, in their own style, they are.
It got me thinking, almost inevitably, who could possibly be next to be plucked from the pantheon of broadcasting giants, and it led to one inexorable conclusion: There is only one left.
At 82, Sir David Attenborough has made his last major TV series. He will no longer be whispering next to gorillas or standing knee deep in bat shit for the sheer thrill of bringing it to our attention. He's still with us, of course, and long may be that so, but no one lives forever, do they?
The BBC faces a battle for its existence every time the Government looks at the licence fee. I have no doubt it's a truly great institution - even if its internet forays into ultra-local news threatens the existence of privately-owned newspapers that exist without the benefit of taxpayers' money - but I do wonder:
Where are the Lyttletons, Wheelers and Attenboroughs of tomorrow?
Or are these incredibly rare but amazing creatures, as surely Attenborough himself would find ironic, about to become extinct?
ajnspencer
Pro 
I'd give it a shot if they let me