Molly Meldrum tells of his interview with Prince Charles and how he punched on with the Sex Pistols’ Johnny Rotten

MOLLY Meldrum has recalled his faux pas while interviewing Prince Charles - just a day after a punch-up with the Sex Pistols’s frontman Johnny Rotten. SEE THE VIDEO

Prince Charles with TV personality Ian 'Molly' Meldrum on the ABC music show Countdown for the launch the Silver Jubilee Aus...

THE Sex Pistols had exploded onto the UK scene with a bunch of expletives. Bill Grundy caused a sensation when he interviewed them on the TV show Today. Guitarist Steve Jones called Grundy ‘a dirty bastard’, ‘a dirty f***er’ and ‘a fucking rotter’.

I couldn’t wait to meet the band. But I was disappointed when only two members — Steve Jones and drummer Paul Cook — arrived at the ABC offices. I’d been promised all four (and being a bit of a royalist, I was looking forward to having a go at them for their single ‘God Save The Queen’).

After doing the interview with Steve and Paul, I decided to track down their manager, Malcolm McLaren. I finally found him at a post-production studio, where he was working on some Sex Pistols’ videos. Malcolm was very gracious, apologising, and promising that Johnny Rotten and Sid Vicious would be available the following evening.

PRINCESS DIANA GREETED BY F-BOMB AT MOLLY MELDRUM’S HOUSE

MOLLY MELDRUM’S BRILLIANT CAREER

It was great news, though I had a problem — we were due to fly back to Australia that afternoon, so we’d be home two days before my interview with Prince Charles.

What to do?

Without consulting Grant Rule (Countdown producer), I cancelled our flight and told Qantas I’d ring back to re-book. But when I did, two and a half hours later, all the seats on the following day’s flight had gone. In fact, all the flights for the next ten days were fully booked.

‘Oh, well,’ I thought, ‘there goes my chance to chat with Johnny Rotten and Sid Vicious.’ I told the booking agent to put us back on the flight that I’d cancelled.

‘I’m sorry, sir, we can’t do that because we’ve already given those tickets away.’

I burst into tears. Between sobs, I explained my dilemma to the sympathetic Qantas representative — I had to go home because I was interviewing Prince Charles. He managed to find a TWA flight that would allow us to connect to the only available Qantas flight in San Francisco. I gladly accepted it.

We caught up with Malcolm McLaren, who took us to the pub, where we found Johnny Rotten and Sid Vicious huddled in a corner with a group of people. It was there that Malcolm confessed that he hadn’t actually told Johnny and Sid about our interview.

Malcolm McLaren put his hand on my shoulder: ‘Go for it,’ he ordered, ‘do it now!’

For a moment there was stunned silence, then I walked up to Johnny Rotten and shoved a microphone in his face. ‘We spoke to Steve and Paul,’ I declared, ‘and now we’d like to talk to you and Sid.’

Johnny Rotten looked up and scowled. ‘Get f***ed,’ he spat.

I persisted with my approach and Rotten decided to flick a cigarette at the camera. It hit the cameraman’s eye.

A brawl erupted. I unloaded with an almighty right hook, connecting with Rotten. Sid Vicious leapt to his feet and applauded. ‘Hit him again!’

Grant was hit in the back of the head, the camera was knocked to the ground, while I unleashed a barrage of blows on Rotten. I gave him a right for me and my cameraman, and another right for the Queen of England.

I was furious. We packed up and returned to our hotel in silence. The next day, it was time to head home to interview Prince Charles.

When we arrived at Heathrow Airport, we looked up at the departures board but could not see our TWA flight. I raced to the TWA counter, only to be told that the flight had closed. I could see that Grant wanted to curl up in the corner. If he didn’t deliver me in time for the Prince Charles interview, his career was as good as over. I had to take charge. ‘Follow me,’ I ordered.

We ran to the gate, where the TWA attendant was packing up his documents. The door was open, but there was a rope across it. I grabbed Grant: ‘When I count to three, run and jump the rope.’

I counted to three, we hurdled the rope, and took off down the stairs — with the TWA guy in hot pursuit.

We found ourselves on the tarmac. I spotted a TWA plane in the distance. ‘That has to be it!’ An empty bus was idling near the doorway. ‘Jump in!’ I yelled.

I threw twenty quid at the driver, pointed at the plane and screamed, ‘We’ve got to get on that TWA plane.’

As we tore across the tarmac, I could see the attendants removing the steps from the plane’s door. Jumping out of the bus, I demanded, ‘Put the steps back!’

Sirens were blaring and security people were coming from everywhere, brandishing guns. Grant was shaking.

I’m not sure how Molly explained it to them, but he pulled out all these official papers plus the script from Buckingham Palace, screaming, ‘I’ve got to get home to interview the future King of England!’

The steps are put back, the doors open, and we’re on our way home.

There was a knock on the door at my Alfred Street house. It was Countdown producer Grant Rule. I was nervous about doing the biggest interview of my life. It’s not every day that you meet your Prince. Grant walked inside to see that I was surrounded by a group of friends. My mood immediately brightened. ‘Watch this, lovey,’ I said to Grant. ‘Watch this!’

I delivered the Prince Charles script word perfect.

I went weak at the knees. I knew he’d never do it twice.

I’d been up till 2.30am, rehearsing, with neighbour Fay (Brian Flaherty) playing the role of Prince Charles.

So, how did a man named Molly come to interview the future King of England? Well, the Prince Charles saga started when showbiz entrepreneur Harry M. Miller — who was the Chairman of the Queen’s Silver Jubilee Commemorative Organisation — was planning the functions and duties that Prince Charles would be required to do on his official trip to Australia.

Harry suggested to me that perhaps there could be an album of Australian tracks to coincide with his visit, with the proceeds going to the Silver Jubilee Organisation.

‘That’s a great idea,’ I said.

In the weeks after that first meeting, I negotiated with record companies, managers and artists and came up with the concept of an album of previously unreleased tracks and B-sides.

Harry then organised a meeting with Countdown executive producer Michael Shrimpton, the record company bosses and myself. Halfway through the meeting, he dropped a bombshell:

‘So when the Prince comes to Australia, he’s going to be on Countdown, talking to Molly ...’

‘What?’ I shrieked. ‘You’ve got to be joking!’

Michael Shrimpton was even more blunt: ‘Over my dead body. It can’t happen. It’s a recipe for disaster.’

But the interview was locked in — Prince Charles was going to appear on Countdown.

I learned the script on the plane on the way home from London. The other passengers must have thought I’d lost my mind. Over and over, I’d say, ‘And now I’d like to introduce His Royal Highness, The Prince of Wales, Prince Charles.’

This was new territory for me, but Michael and Harry insisted I had to stick to the script.

The Prince Charles interview was being taped at the AAV studios in South Melbourne, which was close to Government House, where Prince Charles was officially staying. As Prince Charles was required to fly to Adelaide straight after the interview, it was felt that the ABC studios in Elsternwick were too far away.

Prince Charles arrived at AAV at 10.11am. He left thirteen minutes later, but for me it was a very long thirteen minutes.

I told the press afterwards: ‘It was like a dream, but it developed into a nightmare. I became panic stricken. I had never felt this feeling of such panic before.’

I remember turning into Bank Street, South Melbourne, where the studios were situated, and seeing rows of Commonwealth and Victorian Police. It then hit me — I was about to interview the future King of England. It was a momentous occasion, because the Royal Family, certainly at that stage, didn’t do television interviews.

God, why did it have to be me?

Sitting very upright in a navy suit with a sky-blue shirt and white collar, and grey, navy and pink tie, I adopted a voice even toffier than Prince Charles and began the most horrific interview of my life.

Everything was going fine until ‘ ... and now we come to the most important part of tonight’s program. In fact, the most important part of the program’s history. Some months ago, the Chairman of the Queen’s Silver Jubilee Commemorative Organisation, Mr Harry um, MMM, um, MMM Miller ... oh no.’

Why couldn’t his name be just plain Harry Miller? The M was really posing a problem. It was like I had a whole bag of M&Ms in my mouth.

Ted Emery looked at me a little bemused and barked, ‘Take two!’

And so I restart the intro. I get to Harry’s name and stumble on the Ms again.

I look at Prince Charles, he looks at me with a rather astonished look, and Ted says, ‘Just relax, we’re going to reset the cameras.’

It was at this stage that Prince Charles, obviously trying to break the ice, kindly remarked, ‘I believe you’ve just got back from London.’

‘Yes, yes,’ I replied enthusiastically. ‘As a matter of fact, I saw your mum driving along in an open carriage in London the other day. She was on her way to open Parliament.’

Prince Charles corrected me: ‘You mean Her Majesty The Queen.’

‘Yes, yes, The Queen, The Queen, Oh my God!’

Ted Emery: ‘Take three.’

I cleared my throat, rambled on and got to the point of: ‘And now we come to the most important part of the ... sorry.

Could I just have one glass of water please?’

Looking at Prince Charles, I said, ‘I’m terribly sorry about this.’

Prince Charles: ‘Don’t worry, it happens all the time.’

Me: ‘Does it?’

It was around this stage of my life that I took to calling just about everyone ‘Lovey’. When Ted handed me the glass of water, I turned to Prince Charles, put my arm around his shoulder and said, ‘It’s all right, Lovey, I’ll get this together in a moment.’

An awkward giggle reverberated through the press contingent. All I can remember is Michael Shrimpton at the back of the room, pacing up and down with his hands over his eyes. One of the ABC cameramen claims Michael was saying: ‘The man’s a fool.’

Grant Rule was sitting outside in the broadcast van. ‘Just keep rolling,’ he instructed the crew, ‘we’re living history.’

Back on the set, Prince Charles helpfully asked me: ‘Do you have one of those [rolling his hands] teleprompters?’

‘Um, no.’

At the end of the interview, Prince Charles said to me: ‘I think that was all right. Probably talked nonsense actually, but still, thanks very much.’

‘Yes, that was fine,’ I replied, as we stood and shook hands.

After the Prince Charles episode went to air, Grant Rule stamped the interview out-takes in big letters: ‘NEVER TO BE USED’.

I recently watched a clip of the interview on YouTube. With the editing tricks, it looks like I said ‘f***, f***, f***’ in front of Prince Charles. I swear this never happened! I guess I can laugh about it now, but back then it was a nightmare. I’ll always remember the Melbourne afternoon

The Herald related the whole episode on the front page with the headline, ‘Molly Mumbles ... “Saw your mum” he tells Prince Charles’.

I guess the only way you can sum it up is to give a different spin to Gough Whitlam’s historic speech on the steps of Parliament House after he’d been dismissed by the Governor- General. ‘Well may we say God save the Queen, because nothing will save the Governor-General.’

In my case, it was Michael Shrimpton saying: ‘Well may we say God save Prince Charles, because nothing can save Meldrum!’

This is an excerpt from The Never, Um, Ever Ending Story by Ian ‘Molly’ Meldrum with Jeff Jenkins. Publisher: Allen & Unwin.

Originally published as Molly Meldrum tells of his interview with Prince Charles and how he punched on with the Sex Pistols’ Johnny Rotten