Esther Chilton

I heard it on the radio

When it came to radio stations, my father and I clashed. He was a big BBC Radio Two fan and would always listen to the breakfast show. As a teenager I thought it too dated, but it was Dad’s radio, so who was I to argue? Luckily, he had to be out the house and off to work by 7.30, so there was plenty of time for me to switch stations and tune in to Radio One before I had to leave for school.

My favourite DJ was Mike Smith, who presented the breakfast show from 5^th May 1986 until 17^th May 1988. Even Princess Diana apparently stated that he was her favourite DJ. He just had such a lovely, genuine way about him. I also loved his sense of humour – and he played great music, of course.

When I first heard Mike’s nickname – Smitty – I felt even more of a connection to him. We had two cats. One was called Taddy and the other Smith. My father was an avid cigarette card collector and the cats were named after two cigarette card manufacturers. Over the years, Smith’s name had become shortened to Smitty. I was sure Mike Smith would like to hear about my cat sharing the same nickname with him. So I set about writing in to him at Radio One.

I remember listening in to the show every morning, my heart thumping, wondering if he’d read out my name. I’d even stated the time I listened to his show in the letter, blaming both my father and school for the reasons I couldn’t listen to the whole show.

The days went by. Nothing. I knew he must receive numerous letters and he couldn’t read them all out. But then the day came – he said he was delighted to hear from me and how wonderful it was that I had a cat of the same name. I couldn’t stop smiling – for days. It was made even better when children at school kept coming up to me and saying they’d heard my name read out on the radio.

I should have asked for a signed photo of Mike, but I didn’t even think about it. Though, a few days later, a Radio One sticker arrived in the post. It was cherished for many years to come, until the writing faded.

When Smitty (the cat) passed away at the grand old age of nineteen, it went through my head to let Mike know. It was only a fleeting thought, but I felt he’d have cared.

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