The Royle Family

I would like to leave this city
This old town don't smell too pretty and
I can feel the warning signs running around my mind

(‘Half the World Away,’ Oasis)


For many Christmases my family would sit around the box and watch The Royle Family (not that one, the other one). We would laugh at cantankerous Jim, sigh for put-upon Barb, shake our heads at Dave, at Denise, feel for tea lady/dogsbody, Anthony. It was our Christmas tradition. Far better watching them than their namesakes. The actual Queen would come on at three in an exorbitant frock and trot out some platitudes about world hunger; Nana Norma, The Queen of Sheba, was the only monarch we were interested in. When Caroline Aherne passed, a bit of Christmas was lost. Just like Morecambe and Wise and Only Fools and Horses, The Royle Family became synonymous with the holiday. In many ways it was perfect Christmas television: it reflected back our lives. Just as we were sat around the box, they were too.

Comedy at Christmas. 

Given I loved The Royle Family, I missed the seasons when they first aired. I’ve written before about how I came late to comedy. I was always a casual viewer until I became friends with Dec in sixth form and Jim in university. Having only seen the specials, I thought it proper to right a wrong and watch the show from the start. So over the last three weeks I’ve been watching an episode just before bed. Doing so has meant I’ve been through the whole Netflix catalogue – of which, there are only a few specials missing. It’s been such a rewarding experience that I feel compelled to tell you all about it.


The Royle Family is the baby of Craig Cash and Caroline Aherne. The pair met on a Manchester pirate radio station in the late 80’s, which also hosted Jon Ronson and Terry Christian. Aherne was bowled over by Cash, declaring him the funniest man she’d ever met. When the station folded, the two discussed comedy projects; one of which became The Mrs Merton Show. Even if you never watched Mrs Merton from cover to cover, you will know the line, ‘So what first attracted you to the millionaire Paul Daniels.’ The lovely Debbie McGee’s only reply: laughter. When you’re faced with a comedian who has an IQ of 176, you have to accept defeat. Aherne’s Mrs Merton was an irascible old woman, an iron fist in a velvet glove; guests just had to accept being put on gas mark 6 and roasted for half an hour. The show ran for four seasons and spawned a sitcom, Mrs Merton and Malcolm: alongside Henry Normal, it was another Cash/Merton production.

It’s The Royle Family though that will be best remembered. Mrs Merton has the mouth, but The Royle Family wears the trousers. It has to be said that the sitcom revolutionised comedy. Other than a few moments, the whole thing takes place in the Royle’s living room. Only Stefan Golaszewski’s Him and Her can boast a commitment to a single setting. Most comedies gather the characters at the beginning, then throw them off on their separate adventures, re-uniting them at the end. The reason for this is because it’s considered too stultifying to have them all in one places; there’s more variety and dynamism in having separate strands for individual characters to career into. The Royle Family has more in common with theatre than sitcom. It says, ‘These are the characters you’re going to spend time with. You will get to know the minutiae of their lives; the scratches, farts and fidgets. Things will be slowly revealed. What are you rushing for?’


For three seasons and a Christmas special, we’re put under house arrest with the Royles. It isn’t until The Queen of Sheba episode that we’re allowed to stretch our legs and take a trip to the hospital with them. Instead like the sociologist in Alan Bennet’s Enjoy, we sit and observe the working-class inhabitants, taking note of their every move and (bowel) movement. Jim is the King; his throne is his arm chair. His wife Barbara, the chamberlain, who manages the household. Without her income from the bakery, the kingdom would fall. There’s the princess Denise who is waited on by her courtier, Dave. Not only courtier, but courier, delivering pay cheques and foot rubs. Then there’s Anthony, the son, but hardly a prince. He is more of a butler, assigned to run errands: regularly frequenting their Royal Warrant suppliers, the local offie, for booze, baccy and chocies. Also, the poor lad makes more tea than the PG Tips factory. Then, there’s the Queen Mum, Norma; a lady who doesn’t live in the household, yet lords and ladies over it. Her age gives her special privileges: any request she makes cannot be denied. To Jim, she is a threat; to everyone else, a maverick, a true Werther’s original. 

The Royles.

Watching the episodes through, I find it hard to find fault with anything: the characterisation, plot, dialogue, timing. The characters are so neatly drawn; I’ve already alluded to how Denise takes after her dad, and Anthony his mum – this level of detail isn’t typical of most sitcoms where every character must be a type. Despite appearing plotless, the story is there too. Each series culminates in a significant celebration: a wedding, a party, a christening. These denouements act as a counter-point to the rest of the series, providing more drama and soul. In these season finales we see Jim drop the mic on his working men’s club routine, revealing the kind man behind the cruel mirth. The dialogue is sublime whether it’s Jim consoling his daughter, (‘I’m glad your wedding is back on. I’m always sad when you call it off,’) or Nana lamenting her age, (‘If I get married again, the something blue will be the veins in my leg.’) And the timing? Flawless. When Anthony’s prospective in-laws come around for meet and greet, the introductions have the rhythm of jazz. It’s incredible.


Last night I rounded off my viewing with ‘The Queen of Sheba’ two-part special. It’s the first episode where the real time format is eschewed for something altogether more filmic. There’s a Johnny Cash score that runs through, a Jungle Book dance interlude, scene and time changes. Disrupting the rules they made makes it stand out. The contrast in the canon feels right for such a monumental moment in the show. Of course, good comedy makes us laugh, but whether it’s Del and Rodders at the auction or Tim and Dawn at the disco, it can also make us cry more than drama. Quite simply, ‘The Queen of Sheba’ is a work of art.

Given Aherne passed a few years ago, there will never be new episodes of The Royle Family. I can think of no finer memorial than the show. It showcases a warm wit, kind soul and sharp mind.

The Crown: my arse! These are the royals for me.


The Royle Family is available on Netflix.