Clive Myrie: Master of the roles

People admire Clive Myrie, and lately they are not afraid to say so. ‘I was walking down the road yesterday and a woman turned around and said: “It’s a privilege to have you walking behind me. I just think you’re amazing.” And she almost burst into tears,’ says the newsreader, reporter and Mastermind host, whose deep voice has a quiet authority to it. ‘It was the weirdest thing and it’s happening a lot. I get this sense of being someone the public has identified with because I’m in their living rooms every night, someone they’ve formed an attachment to and someone I hope they trust, in a situation of mortal danger.’

He’s talking about the danger we are all in because of Vladimir Putin’s war on Ukraine, as the anniversary of the invasion approaches; but Clive is also referring to the threat to his own life and those working with him on 24 February 2022, when he found himself presenting the Ten O’Clock News for the BBC live from the roof of a hotel in Kyiv, announcing ‘a huge Russian military offensive by land, sea and air’.

Was he scared? ‘Yeah,’ says Clive, laughing at the thought he might not have been. ‘One of the producers from that time said the other day: “Do you remember when I was calling you up to find out what was going to be in the reports and you were just going: ‘Oh ****, oh ****?’”’

What was so alarming? ‘There were lots of shells and missiles coming into an area 16km north of our position. The hotel was shaking, the windows were rattling. It was scary.’

This handsome 58-year-old has a strong but relaxed presence as we sit and chat. Instead of the newsreader’s suit and tie or the war correspondent’s flak jacket and helmet, he is wearing an overshirt and a natty blue silk scarf. But if Clive Myrie says something was scary then it definitely was, because this is a man who has reported from the front line in Kosovo, Iraq and Afghanistan, as well as the earthquake in Kathmandu, among many other wars, uprisings and disasters.

’I asked my boss: “do you think they will kill us?” She said: “I don’t think so.” I said: “Fine. I’ll stay”’

‘People sometimes forget I have been a foreign correspondent for years,’ he says. And it’s true: some viewers wondered what the bloke from Mastermind was doing in such mortal danger, or wished he was safely back presenting the Proms at the Royal Albert Hall. It fell to him to anchor the Six O’Clock News on the day Her Majesty The Queen died, although when I ask if he felt the pressure of the moment, he says: ‘It was my job. To have elevated the occasion in my mind would have put more pressure on myself.’ He was also presenting live at Buckingham Palace when The Queen’s coffin arrived from Scotland. ‘That was very moving, being surrounded by thousands of people who watched the hearse go through the gates in silence. It was eery and surreal,’ he says. ‘I also covered the official proclamation that Charles was King, at St James’s Palace. It was amazing to be there for that moment in history.’

It is three years since Clive was called back from the field to alternate with Huw Edwards on the Ten O’Clock News, and in that time he has become one of those BBC faces we see on telly all the time, who feel a bit like friends. During the pandemic, he won praise for his harrowing dispatches from inside the Royal London Hospital, wearing protective scrubs. He expected to anchor the news and leave again when he flew into a peaceful Kyiv on a £29.99 Ryanair flight, on what turned out to be the day before the invasion. ‘I did not think Putin would do it, I couldn’t see what he had to gain.’

A few days later, with the Russian armoured convoy heading for the city, the head of the BBC team there gave everybody the chance to leave. ‘There were people in tears, saying: “I didn’t sign up for this, it isn’t part of what I thought this was going to be.” So a convoy of vehicles left.’ Clive asked his boss what would happen if those who stayed were captured. ‘I said: “Do you think they’ll kill us? Will they want to exact some kind of revenge?” And she said: “I don’t think so.” So I said: “Fine. I’ll stay.”’

It wasn’t easy – viewers even spotted a tear running down his face during one live report. When asked if it was emotion or the wind lashing his eyes, he says: ‘A bit of both.’

The underground car park of the hotel became a bunker for 60 or 70 people, including the staff and the BBC production team. Supplies ran low. ‘Sometimes we had only pasta and ketchup. There were a couple of days when I just ate throat sweets, because I didn’t want the pasta and ketchup. The adrenaline was keeping me going anyway. I was pumped up.’

Did he get any rest? ‘No, you didn’t sleep. You’d be woken by the air-raid sirens or the Tannoy. If there was intelligence of an attack you’d sleep with your boots and flak jacket on and your helmet next to your pillow in case you needed to run out.’

He’s quick to point out that nothing he went through in this time compares to the suffering of the Ukrainian people. Clive returned to the UK after ten days, making an escape through Moldova and Romania, but he has returned several times. ‘I will be going back for the anniversary, to talk to some of those people I met at the beginning of the war. I hope it will be over, but I’m not sure how it can be. I don’t see either side backing down.’

‘When I get to 60 I will have some dignity because I’m doing something I wanted to do’

As we went to press, the war was far from over and Clive’s mother and father, Lynne and Norris, were apprehensive about him going back there. ‘I saw my parents a couple of weekends ago and they were saying: “We’d rather you didn’t go back. We don’t want you to go.” They’ve never got used to it. But I hope they trust my judgement and that I’m not going to do anything stupid. And that, hopefully, I’ll come back home.’

Clive’s parents moved to Bolton, Lancashire, from Jamaica in the Sixties and Norris worked in a factory while Lynne was a seamstress who made dresses for Mary Quant. It partly explains why her son is such a snappy dresser, in that scarf, Converse high-tops and a shirt from the cool London brand Albam. ‘My dad was a bit of a peacock in Jamaica, he was always turning heads. Maybe I get a bit of it from him?’ His laughter booms out when I ask if he considers himself a sex symbol, as quite a few people do these days. ‘God, no!’

Clive is a one-woman kind of guy anyway, having been married to his wife Catherine since 1998. They met at the launch of a book about Swiss cheeses, of all things, but he had already reported from some very dangerous places. ‘She knew what I was about,’ says Clive. Growing up he had been inspired by Trevor McDonald. ‘I turn on the telly and I see a bloke who looks like me and I’m thinking: “He’s doing the job I want to do. I’m going to give it a go.”’

Clive had deliberately shed his working-class Lancashire accent at Sussex University, which in those days probably helped him get a place on the BBC’s journalism training scheme. Another inspiration was the globe-trotting Alan Whicker, and when Clive met Catherine he was delighted to discover she had the same urge to see the world. That is one of the reasons they have never had children, he says.

‘It’s a personal thing. We wanted to travel, that’s what we’ve done. We’re both from big families with what feels like a million nephews and nieces [it’s actually 19], goddaughters and godsons and so on. It was a part of our lives we never felt was as important as wanting to see the world. We certainly didn’t feel it would have been fair to be dragging kids around the world, or leaving them behind. That would have been even more selfish, potentially, for us than not having kids in the first place.’

So was any part of him relieved when the BBC suggested he come home and try reading the news? ‘No! You’re joking. I was like: “Are you pensioning me off already?”’ The couple were due to move to India, but Clive thought hard and changed his mind. ‘I thought: “When I get to 60 I will have some dignity because I’m doing something I wanted to do.” My wife wasn’t particularly happy though. She really wanted to go to Delhi.’ Instead of which, they now live in North London. The move has turned out to be life-changing for Catherine. ‘She’s got her own business as an upholsterer and furniture restorer and loves her life now.’

They still get about together, including a trip to Verona with friends every year for the festival of opera there. His love of Italy is explored in a new 15-part travel show for BBC Two called Clive Myrie’s Italian Road Trip, due to air in the spring. ‘I’ll be uncovering the “hidden” Italy many tourists won’t know about, from acting as navigator in a classic car rally where the pit stops were Prosecco not petrol, to taking part in the world tiramisu-making championships,’ he says. ‘It’s been a blast.’

As for music, Clive studied the violin and the trumpet as a schoolboy and was in the Bolton youth orchestra, but let that slip at university. However, his musical tastes widened. ‘I got into jazz there. I love the sense of freedom you have with jazz,’ he says. Presenting the Proms has been part of his meteoric rise to popularity in recent years, although of course Clive has been on our screens for decades as a reporter. Since his return to home shores to anchor the news, he has appeared on BBC shows such as House of Games and Have I Got News For You, which he’s guest hosted three times, most recently in the week Liz Truss resigned as Prime Minister.

Perhaps the real game-changer, in terms of his popularity, was taking over Mastermind from the crabbier John Humphrys last year. ‘I’m thoroughly enjoying it,’ he says. ‘I feel comfortable in the chair now in a way that I certainly didn’t when I started, because I’m filling huge shoes.’ There’s an awkward moment when I ask if his predecessor gave him any advice, or at least passed on his best wishes. ‘I haven’t heard from John,’ says Clive. Isn’t that odd, I ask. All he will say is: ‘I first met John 30 years ago, when I was a reporter on the Today programme. I’m sure he means well.’ It’s in Clive’s nature to be friendlier to those in the hot seat. ‘I hope I encourage the contestants to be their best and not be frightened, although the set-up is intimidating.’

So, would he ever have a go? ‘No,’ he says. ‘I’m that classic journo who knows a little bit about a great deal of things, but I don’t want to display my ignorance in front of two million people.’

‘If I paraded on Strictly in a sparkly top, it’d be tricky to take me seriously in a war zone’

Clive reveals he turned down a different challenge in 2022: Strictly Come Dancing. ‘When I said no, I didn’t say never.’ So there’s still a chance we might see him pop up on the dance floor, but he’s cautious. ‘I think that for the moment my day job requires a certain level of seriousness. If I paraded around in a sparkly top, you might find it a bit tricky to take seriously what I say when I’m in a war zone.’

He certainly looks fit enough, with some impressive biceps. ‘Those are from carrying camera equipment and lifting up godchildren, nephews and nieces. I’m not that fit, actually. I do love desserts, which is not good. But I try to eat sensibly and my wife is pretty good at keeping on top of that.’

Still, we know Clive turns heads – although it’s not just his appearance that people admire. What did he say to the woman who was so nice to him in the street? ‘I just said: “Thank you so much. I hope you keep watching and it’s really kind of you to take the time to say hello.”’ Modest and polite, but with the flash of humanity that sets him apart. ‘I was completely moved.’