Nothing Is Impossible: The Real-Life Adventures of a Street Magician (34 page)

If it wasn’t for Gramps, I don’t know how life would have turned out. My great-grandfather was always there for me. He not only introduced me to magic, he was also the man who taught me to swim, who showed me how to ride my first bike, who did my homework with me. I remember he used to drive around the estate in his white Vauxhall Astra. I thought it was the coolest car ever, mostly because he was the only person I knew who had a car! He used to pick me up and take me to football, or we’d go fishing. He was the coolest guy ever. He might have been my great-grandfather, but he had a lot of energy for a man of his age. He was magical in every sense of the word. It was only in the last few years of his life that he was stuck in a wheelchair. Before then, he had more energy and spark than me and my friends put together. He embraced life and all he had to give.

Having served in the Second World War, Gramps used magic as a way of entertaining the other soldiers and keeping their spirits up. He always cast a light on the darkest of situations. After the war, he returned home to a severe economic depression. But he managed to get a job working in the mills which was proper, physical, hard work. He made little money and was only able to put little bits of food on the table, but he always got by. Gramps wasn’t a magician really; he only used magic to win a beer. Small things when rations were tight in Bradford. Magic made him a little bit of money here and there. Well, apart from on one occasion, when he managed to bag himself a woman! My nan, the ultimate prize! My nan, Nelly, had met Gramps not long after she had given birth to my grandma, Nana Lynne. She had broken up with my birth great-granddad, and she and Ken were together from then on in. He was very close to my mum and, through her, close to me. So he was in fact my step-great-granddad, but that is an inconsequential fact as far as I’m concerned. He was a real granddad to me.

Gramps was also a proper man’s man. He was strong but he had humility. And he protected his own. He loved Nan to pieces. It’s very rare that you see couples that have been together for so long. Whenever I saw them it was so obvious how in love they were. You don’t see that much in this day and age.

Gramps saved me from the bullies when I was twelve years old, he inspired my love of magic and he taught me everything I needed to know as a magician. Even as I got older, Gramps was always there for me. I didn’t speak to him on the phone as much, because he had trouble hearing as he got older, so I made sure I visited him every week. It wasn’t always easy when I moved to London, so every moment I did get at home was precious. When I was around Gramps, I wouldn’t want to talk about anything negative. I wouldn’t want to bring it into that warm environment.
He had this weird way about him, and so always kept things positive when I was in his company. In a way I forgot my troubles when I was with him. True magic. By the time I left his house, I would be feeling inspired. Nothing would faze me.

I think he knew how much he meant to me. Although we wouldn’t have those kinds of conversations when we were together, I know he read the interviews and saw the television programmes where I always bigged him up. I think the time it really hit home for him was when I turned up with a tattoo of his nickname ‘Gramps’ on my neck. That year he’d had a couple of strokes and when he saw the tattoo it was the first time I had seen him smile all year. I put it there so I would always know that he was there looking over my shoulder, keeping an eye on my magic. He was in hospital when I showed him my tattoo. He smiled warmly and then drifted off to sleep.

It was a proud smile.

Gramps was like a father and a grandfather to me. When he died on 29 February 2012, I took the news very hard. He had been ill for a while, but had taken a bad turn overnight. He had had three strokes and was suffering from a brain tumour. Gramps was told he only had days to live. When he died, I rushed home to Bradford for a few weeks. I just needed to be at home. I was filming the second series of
Dynamo: Magician Impossible
at that point, but I had to send the cameras away. I didn’t really want to be filmed. I didn’t want to talk to anyone or see anyone. It was like the magic had died with him. I had no drive, no ambition. I felt numb.

The night Gramps died, I was in Bradford. I’d driven up there with my girlfriend to visit him. We dropped off our stuff at a hotel and then went to see him in the hospice. He was very ill at that point and in a deep sleep, so we weren’t sure if he knew we were
there. Me, my nan, who was there with him all the time, and my girlfriend sat in the hospice and chatted to him and each other. We watched an episode of
My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding
because my nan loves it.

Later that night, we left the hospice and drove to the hotel. We’d been asleep for about two hours when the hotel phone started ringing. It was 1.40am and I immediately got a strange feeling in my stomach. I hesitated to pick up the phone, scared of what I might hear.

It was the nurse from the hospice ringing to tell me that Gramps had just passed away. Stunned, I put the phone back on its cradle, turned to my girlfriend and started to cry. I cried myself to sleep in her arms.

I slept very, very deeply. I woke up the next day and actually felt OK, which was weird in itself. I think I was probably still in shock. Even though I knew how ill Gramps was, I just couldn’t believe he’d actually gone. I couldn’t believe I’d never see him again.

I went to Starbucks to get some coffees and it was there that it hit me. All of a sudden, I was surrounded by people, asking for autographs and pictures. There were people everywhere and all I could think was ‘He’s gone, Gramps is gone.’ I had to pretend to be OK, and so I kept on smiling and taking pictures. But it took everything in my power not to drop the coffees and run out. I just wanted to be by myself.

That first night was the only time I cried over Gramps. I didn’t cry at the funeral. I can’t explain why. But I guess I knew that Gramps wouldn’t want to me to be upset. I didn’t want to go to the funeral because I don’t think funerals are the best way to remember someone. But that’s only my opinion. I went to Gramps’ service for Nan and Mum, though, to support them. They asked me to give a speech.

As with everything I do, I improvised. I said something along the lines of, ‘Everyone knows my grandpa. He was like a father figure to me. He raised me, got me into magic, he is the reason I do what I do today. I know it’s a sad day, but Gramps wouldn’t want us to be down. He’d want us to have a good time and get down to the pub and celebrate his life, so let’s do it.’

It took some time, but eventually, I began to do magic again. Once I started it became my way of coping with the loss. It was another example of the power magic has. Whenever life is hard, magic continues to rescue me.

Gramps was the main male role model in my life, the person who I looked up to. He also never discouraged me from doing anything I wanted. Anything. He filled me with confidence.

Before he was ill I think I only ever saw him unhappy twice in my whole life; he was always happy. Even when he was sick, he would make a joke out of anything. No matter how I was feeling, or, indeed, how he was feeling, he would always cheer me up. He was my salvation as a kid. He inspired me in every way. He was a great man. He was my superstar.

Gramps introduced me to magic and magic changed my life. It took me to places I never dreamed I’d visit, showed me the most amazing sights and introduced me to so many extraordinary people. It opened doors for me and continues to do so today. And when I was in a dark place when Gramps died, it was magic that gradually drew me into the sunlight again.

Gramps, I love you and always will. Thank you for showing me there is magic in the world. Now that I’ve found it, I’ll keep hold of it, always, and make sure that our magic lives on.

To everyone who has believed in this impossible dream of mine. I couldn’t have done it without you.

Aged one and a half and excited about my christening.

I’ve always been a sharp dresser. Aged four.

Gramps and me hanging out in America.