A SELF-CONFESSED big kid at heart, Brian Llewellyn was born to be a Punch and Judy man. Oh, no he wasn’t...oh, yes he was.

As a boy of five or six in the late fifties, he used to help his dad William, better known as Uncle Billy, as he plied his puppetry trade on Redcar seafront.

Even on rainy days, when the beach was pretty much deserted, the show would go on, and young Brian would be tasked with collecting the money – “bottling” as it was known in the trade.

Before Punch and Judy took over, Billy worked as a railwayman but he loved performing comedy magic shows as a side-line.

When Darlington Council ordered a series of shows to celebrate The Queen’s coronation in 1953, he decided that a Punch and Judy routine would work best for street parties. He carved his puppets on a lathe at Shildon railway works and never looked back.

Working nights on the railways, and making extra cash with Punch and Judy during the day, he’d sleep when he could between shows.

Brian chuckles at the memories of a peculiar childhood. There was the time his dad was performing in the NAAFI at Catterick Garrison and it was a tough audience. One cheeky little lad chucked a choc-ice at Mr Punch, missed and hit the back of the booth. Somehow, it bounced inside Uncle Billy’s shirt and slid slowly down his back.

“He couldn’t stop the show so I had to stick my hand up and try to retrieve it,” recalled Brian.

Another time, the old man was using a swazzle – a device used on the back of the tongue to give Mr Punch his rasping voice – but he swallowed it mid-performance. He never risked using a swazzle again, learning instead to master the distinctive voice naturally.

Although Brian had enjoyed assisting his dad, he initially opted for the security of a job at Moss and Campbell’s furniture shop in Darlington, rising to the position of manager. But then came The Queen’s Silver Jubilee and the demand for Punch and Judy shows rocketed.

Billy, working part-time by then, couldn’t cope with all the bookings so Brian rose to the Punch and Judy challenge. With the Moss and Campbell Transit van decorated in Union Flags, he carved his own puppets and did his first professional solo show at Middridge Village Hall in June 1977.

The jubilee shows went well and, although he’d launched his own furniture shop – Llewellyn’s Furniture Emporium in North Road, Darlington in 1980 – the extra income generated by Punch and Judy was proving increasingly welcome.

His hand was finally forced in 1988 with roadworks in North Road killing passing trade. When a Yellow Pages salesman rang to flog an advert for the furniture business, a dispirited Brian turned down the offer.

“Put one in for Punch and Judy instead,” he told the salesman and, within weeks, the phone was ringing off the hook. It was enough to persuade him to say farewell to the furniture trade and take the plunge as a full-time children’s entertainer.

Last week, Brian clocked up his 40th anniversary of making a living by essentially making carved lumps of wood talk with swazzle-free squeaky voices and bash each other over the head. Indeed, if the years of assisting his father are taken into account, Brian lays claim to being one of Britain’s longest-serving Punch and Judy entertainers.

To mark the milestone, Mr Punch was given a paintbrush makeover by Brian to touch up some of the scars from his regular confrontations with Judy.

“ I’ve loved every minute of it,” says Brian, who lives in Darlington with wife Marilyn. “You get to hear children laugh – I don’t know any better medicine than that.”

Brian and Marilyn have become a familiar double-act around the North-East. She focusses on face-painting while he’s mastered balloon-modelling as well as the puppet shows.

Poor Marilyn puts up with a lot. As he blows his whistle to gather his young audience for an anniversary show in Darlington marketplace, Brian points unashamedly at his missus and shouts. “Quick, give me mam a wave.”

“Does anyone like chips with ice cream and pickled onions?” he adds, as 20 or so children take their seats on the floor.

“No-o-o-o-!” they cry in unison.

“Can anyone count to three?” Brian goes on before coming up with his own ridiculous answer: “ONE, TWO…SIX!”

Punch and Judy has its origins way back in the 17th century and yet it endures in 2017. In an age when computer games keep youngsters indoors, it is remarkably silly and simple entertainment, yet children clearly love it.

By the time Brian disappears round the back of his booth and Mr Punch pops up, the children are hooked.

“He’s behind you! Watch out!” screams a bespectacled little boy, standing up to warn Mr Punch about the crocodile.

Brian acknowledges that Punch and Judy have their detractors. “You get the do-gooders who like to complain about the so-called violence, but it’s just good, clean, honest fun. The key is that the kids feel part of the show.”

So, after four decades, it’s surely time for a rest? “No chance. I’ll carry on til I drop,” comes the unhesitating reply. “It’s like any job – sometimes you don’t feel in a very funny mood. But then you hear one kid laugh and that’s all it takes.”

At 63-years-old, and after 40 years as a Punch and Judy man, Brian Llewellyn has no plans to retire. Oh, yes he does...oh, no he doesn’t.