Al Murray: My family values

William Makepeace Thackeray was my great-great-great-grandfather, though I have to confess to being profoundly ambivalent about it. When I was a kid I used to think, “Do we have to talk about this again?” I didn’t read his works for a long time because I’m not mad about Victorian novelists, if only because they’re rather lengthy. But I’ve since read a lot of his journalism and Vanity Fair is excellent.

I was born in Buckinghamshire, but when I was eight we moved to Venezuela because Dad, who spoke Spanish and worked for British Rail management, was tasked with selling the Venezuelans a railway. It was a blissful year of sunshine, swimming and barbecues, and I thought we’d be there for years. I remember it being very cold when we returned to Britain.

When I was a kid, Dad gave off an air of omnicompetence. He’d been an airborne sapper engineer officer from the 1950s through to the 1970s in the territorial army, which seemed unspeakably glamorous. He was like a superhero. He was fascinated by the second world war and remembers the V2s coming over Putney where he lived with his grandmother. It’s the thing that has completely shaped him and his views. Inevitably, it rubbed off on me.

I grew up in the 70s when the people who had fought in the war were still young. Now it’s trumpets and old men, but back then it was real and vital. Not quite so distant. When I was nine, Dad took me to see A Bridge Too Far at the cinema. This was a big deal – we didn’t go the cinema much, and it was a major dad-and-lad event. The film tells the epic story of Operation Market Garden, the central event in British airborne history, and he knew many of the men who’d been there. He also knew the battle backwards, so it had to be right. But the film was packed with howlers and he couldn’t help but say so. It’s a trait I’ve inherited. Watch a war film with me and Dad at your peril.

Mum is an incredibly energetic person and has been heavily involved with Citizens Advice at local and national level. I used to lick envelopes there when I was little. If ever there was a real problem in the family, Mum would get wheeled out. You think your mum might be the softer option, but her intervening had far more impact than Dad, who liked to imagine himself as the tough guy.

When I was nine I was sent to boarding school, which I despised. The first five years were hideous because I wanted to be at home. I guess I resented my parents a little and it put tons of distance between us. One of the things I took from boarding school is that it made me emotionally self-sufficient.

We never sit down as a family and say, “Are you OK?” or “By the way, I love you.” No thanks. That suits me, but I can see it’s not for everybody. But when the chips are down, my parents have always been there. There just aren’t any fanfares about it.

I’m 46 and equidistant between my A-levels and being a wise old man with a grey beard, so it does feel as though the wheel is turning. My eldest daughter will be doing her GCSEs soon and it feels like she’s about to have some of the excitement.

I think being Al Murray’s daughters has delivered some cool cachet, but I’ve always tried to ensure their life isn’t built around my fame. I’ve also tried to show that I’ve worked hard for my success. As a parent, you find yourself saying the things your dad said.

Culled from guardian.co.uk