BBC Radio 2 star and Eurovision legend Colin Berry's will revealed with eye-watering sum left for wife after his death
Berry, who broke into broadcasting with pirate station Radio Caroline, died last month at the age of 79.
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He had been a familiar voice on Radio 2 for decades, holding the place as the station's longest-serving newsreader.
Now, it has been revealed that the star left behind a total of £260,000 to his wife Sandra in his will, which was published yesterday.
The will, which was made in 2015, stated his entire estate would go to his trustees.
This included his wife Sandra or, if she had not survived him, his daughter Marina and son Jonathan.
If all three had not survived him, Berry, who lived in Borehamwood, Hertfordshire, dictated that his fortune would go to sister-in-law Valerie.
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The Independent
23 minutes ago
- The Independent
The Maccabees on reuniting: ‘There were years when it was like a stranger messaging'
I n a dank rehearsal room in New Cross, bathed in an eerie green light that clings to the walls like moss, The Maccabees are easing back into each other's orbit. A headline appearance at All Points East is still months away. Nearest me is their guitarist Felix White, dressed all in black. 'Any requests?' he asks me. Soon the air is thick with nostalgia. Guitars twitch and flicker. Drums roar. Then in comes the choirboy vocal, clear yet quivering, as if frontman Orlando Weeks is on the verge of an apology: 'Mum said no/ To Disneyland,' he sings. 'And Dad loves the Church. Hallelujah.' It's the first time I've heard 'Lego', from their 2007 debut album, since the south London band bowed out eight years ago. But here are all the early Maccabees hallmarks: staccato riffs, adolescent romance, tenderness wrapped inside tension. Back then, in the harried sprawl of mid-Noughties UK indie – a scene of skinny jeans, dirty dance floors and MySpace pages – they briefly seemed to be just another charming, successful young band, writing cool, funny songs about wave machines and toothpaste. Yet they were always headed somewhere else, evolving, their sound increasingly adventurous on their way to a Mercury Prize nomination, an Ivor Novello award, a No 1 record and a headline performance at Latitude. Then it stopped. Seemingly out of nowhere, in August 2016, the group announced they were to be no more, save for a series of farewell celebration shows at Alexandra Palace the following year. 'We are very proud to be able to go out on our own terms, at our creative peak,' a statement read. 'There have been no fallings out.' Fans were bereft. In the years since, details of the split have remained hazy: by all accounts, it was not so much a blow-up as a simmering of fractures and differences. The pieces didn't fit together any more. While Weeks told The Independent in 2020 that the band 'just ran out of steam', blaming the creative frustrations of working as a group, it's clear a cooling-off period was needed. 'With Orlando,' says Hugo White, a guitarist in the band like his older brother Felix, 'there were a few years we didn't speak. You'd send one text maybe in six months.' They had been together their entire adult lives. 'I was 16 when I started the band,' Hugo notes. 'I was 30 when we split up.' Keeping five people together at that age 'locked into a diary that's scheduled for the next year, all intertwined in [each other's] lives', is difficult, he says. 'And I think that kind of broke in a way.' At that point, the five of them all agree, the idea of ever getting the band back together seemed inconceivable. 'It felt final,' says Weeks, who has now released three excellent solo records. 'Extremely final,' Felix jumps in, amid laughter. 'We needed it to be like that in order to move on,' says Hugo. 'It couldn't linger around.' Felix White during The Maccabees' set at the 2009 Isle of Wight Festival (Getty) We're 10 minutes in, and the group dynamic of The Maccabees is already unmistakable – a familial rhythm of in-jokes, unspoken cues and roles that feel shaped over years. If Weeks is the reluctant frontman, softly spoken and meditative, Felix is the band's ebullient cheerleader. Brooding opposite him is Hugo, with a jaw as sharp as his humour, cracking a number of close-to-the-bone barbs about the breakup. Drummer Sam Doyle and bassist Rupert Jarvis are here, too, quieter, more enigmatic. Though the mood is celebratory, there's no doubt the split was a difficult pill to swallow. 'It was so weird because you've made such a commitment to each other from a young age,' Hugo later tells me. 'So the idea that someone wants to make music outside of that group, with other people – it's almost like a betrayal... Even though it isn't.' For Felix, the way it ended, just as The Maccabees had finally earned their place at indie's top table, was, by his own past admission, 'heartbreaking'. 'We were mid-thirties and there was a real sense of saying goodbye to a part of your life,' he told us last year. The Maccabees wasn't the only breakup Felix was going through. At the same time as those bittersweet Alexandra Palace shows, he was also parting from his girlfriend Florence Welch, of Florence + the Machine. There was so much change in the air, Felix says, that it was difficult to navigate. 'Lots of endings happening in lots of different versions of life.' But then change has always been reflected in The Maccabees' music. Just as they became more expansive sonically, with gauzy guitar textures and swirling atmospherics reminiscent of Arcade Fire, so their lyrics matured. Gone were the chewed-up Lego pieces, replaced by introspection and songs concerned with the vicissitudes of ageing. Enjoy unlimited access to 100 million ad-free songs and podcasts with Amazon Music Sign up now for a 30-day free trial. Terms apply. Try for free ADVERTISEMENT. If you sign up to this service we will earn commission. This revenue helps to fund journalism across The Independent. Enjoy unlimited access to 100 million ad-free songs and podcasts with Amazon Music Sign up now for a 30-day free trial. Terms apply. Try for free ADVERTISEMENT. If you sign up to this service we will earn commission. This revenue helps to fund journalism across The Independent. Orlando Weeks performs during the band's 2013 Isle of Wight set (Getty) On a personal level, growing up with The Maccabees, all of us more or less the same age, I've always felt a strange sense of ownership over them, as if they are my band, a soundtrack to my coming of age. I was 20, still flinging myself across sticky, student dance floors in torn Levi's, when a mutual friend played them to me just before the release of debut album Colour It In. Then, two years later, nursing a broken heart, I found myself near Felix in the crowd as Blur played the Pyramid Stage at Glastonbury. 'I fell in love to your first album,' I told him. There were other encounters, too, running the gamut from cringe to extremely cringe. Backstage at the Isle of Wight Festival in 2011, introduced to Hugo by a PR, I careened into fanboy overdrive, explaining more than once that 'your band changed my life'. Professionally speaking, I couldn't be trusted to be objective, either: I spent years wearing down a late, great music editor who refused to let me write about them. Eventually, she caved, and I reviewed them at Brixton Academy, not knowing it would be one of their last shows. (Headline: 'Is it time The Maccabees headlined Glastonbury?') Of course, they're not just my band. Recently, at a stag do in the Scottish Highlands, I derived immeasurable joy from watching the groom-to-be insist on playing four vintage Maccabees songs back-to-back at 3am, those time-capsule choruses still a bottomless font of bonhomie. To me, in an era of swaggering, hyper-macho indie landfill, with bands such as Razorlight and The Rifles, their music always stood apart, shimmering with warmth and depth. Evidently, Danny Boyle thinks so too. For a pivotal scene in his film Steve Jobs , he turned to the sweeping, crepuscular tones of 'Grew Up at Midnight', lifted from the band's critically acclaimed 2012 record Given to the Wild. 'We thought that was going to make us f***ing massive in America,' says Felix. 'They used the whole song at the end and we were like, 'Oh my God, we're going to America, people…'' He pauses… 'F***ing nothing. If anything, we were smaller after the film came out.' The Maccabees at the NME Awards in 2016, shortly before their split (AFP/Getty) Be that as it may, there's no downplaying the magnitude of those farewell shows, which felt part celebration, part elegy. I was there and can attest to just how emotional they were. 'There was a real sense when those last Maccabee shows happened that everyone had been, was a particular age, and it became sort of symbolic for saying goodbye to a certain part of your life – sort of early thirties,' says Felix. 'That idea of real adulthood was upon everyone, that you're definitively ending a stage of your life – and it felt like it was inside all of the rooms when we played those shows. It felt like everyone was pouring their own collective sense of goodbye into it, whatever that might be – relationships, being young, people that couldn't be there, all that kind of stuff. So it felt very heavy.' For a while, it seemed that Felix would not look back as he set off on new paths. He launched Yala! Records, wrote the cricket-themed memoir It's Always Summer Somewhere and started a cricketing podcast called Tailenders with radio host Greg James and England's all-time leading wicket-taker Jimmy Anderson. But as time passed, he realised, 'you do get to a point where you're like, actually, life doesn't last forever. If we want to do this, it could be a really beautiful thing.' There was a recognition that it would likely feel that way for their fans, too, who had felt the poignancy of their parting, and had since perhaps been doing a lot of the things that the band had been doing, like starting families and spending more time at home. 'As a Maccabee through the ages, I think you can really hear that in the music: you can hear that we're 19, you can hear that we're 24 and so on. And the gigs used to feel like that, like when we were first playing, and there used to be people hanging from the ceiling and shoes flying everywhere and all that kind of thing. And then, as we got older, it changed into something more introspective.' As we got older, it changed into something more introspective Felix White Cut to Glastonbury this year and there The Maccabees are, headlining the Park Stage, with a comeback set that weaves all those elements together. Yes, there's introspection, but also that frenetic energy; if there'd been a ceiling, you can be sure people would have hung from it – perhaps without their shoes. 'We never thought we'd be playing these songs again to anybody,' Felix said to the crowd. So how come they are, I ask? The catalyst, Hugo says, was his wedding to the author and poet Laura Dockhill in lockdown. After hiring out a pub in Battersea, he invited Weeks on the condition, he jokes, that he would sing. 'And just for the after party,' Felix chimes in, laughing. 'It's not an open invite!' And so, for the first time since Alexandra Palace, all five of them were in the same room. Their friends Jack Peñate, Jamie T, Florence Welch and Adele all performed that night. Crucially, so, too, did The Maccabees. Reuniting, says Weeks, 'didn't feel forced, because after the end of something like The Maccabees, to coordinate a meeting felt sort of contrived. Then, suddenly, there was this event that was a very obviously uncomplicated reason to all be together.' After Covid, he explains, there were tentative conversations about a reunion. Slowly, the pieces aligned. The White brothers' new band 86TVs were forced to pause their plans after Stereophonics called back their drummer, Jamie Morrison, for a tour. 'So, suddenly, there was this fallow year for them,' Weeks continues, 'and I had finished my stuff with [his 2024 album] Loja. So it was just a natural hiatus there. If there hadn't been an All Points East that felt so good, then it might easily have just drifted and not happened. But it just felt very uncomplicated again.' The boys are back in town: The Maccabees at Glastonbury 2025 (Jill Furmanovsky) Certainly, their Glastonbury set had a natural ease and coherence. 'The thing that I was really noticing was that me, Land [Orlando] and Hugo all used to do this thing where we'd all move at the same time, like unintentionally choreographed,' says Felix, when I meet him and his brother again a few weeks after the festival. 'You'd do two steps forward, stand still, three steps back, and you feel everyone do it at the same time. Like, weird, telepathic, synchronised. And here we were doing it again.' Falling unconsciously into step with one another without even speaking, he says, was 'so weird... even beyond the playing, like it was in your body somewhere'. Beforehand, though, 'I was f***ing nervous,' says Felix. 'And the TV thing really does heighten the whole experience.' 'You can't really get a more high-pressure scenario,' agrees Hugo. They'd been calm in the days leading up to it, but that changed on the day, explains his brother. 'Land had this thing in his head where he was saying randomly, sporadically, with no context, how nervous he was out of 10. So you'd be having a chat, and he'd suddenly go 'seven', and then half an hour later, it'd be 'six', and then 'nine'.' Nerves aside, the band were thrilled with how it went. 'I didn't come down from it for days,' says Felix. The set was capped by an appearance from Welch, now back with Felix, for a rendition of her galloping 2008 hit 'Dog Days Are Over'. 'It was a rehash of what we did together at the wedding,' says Hugo. 'As soon as she sings in a room, it changes. She has that thing where she changes the atmosphere in the inner space, and it's really rare.' The whole process was very different from the classic rock cliché of 'putting the band back together' – rebuilding relationships took time. 'We'd meet up with our kids on the South Bank,' says Hugo. 'Stuff that is so far from how we would have spent every day. After a year of not speaking or whatever, you know, you go for a coffee and walk for an hour. Hugo White: 'Florence has that thing where she changes the atmosphere in the inner space, and it's really rare' (Getty) 'Obviously, it's different now,' he adds, 'because Land lives in Lisbon, but things are just back to how they were. And there were years where it was like a stranger messaging you.' Of course, there have been seismic shifts in the musical landscape since The Maccabees formed in 2004 over a love of The Clash and the BBC series Old Grey Whistle Test, which featured punchy, angular performances by the likes of Dr Feelgood and XTC ('You can see why it looked fun to play fast,' says Felix). These days, the industry is 'less focused on bands', says Hugo. 'People are creating these things on computers. Because it's cheaper, it's easier. It doesn't require the same effort as five individuals that connect in a certain way to be able to create something.' Jarvis agrees. 'It's so much more expensive to just be a new band. Back when we first started, we'd chuck in a fiver each to go and spend four hours rehearsing, [but] that doesn't get you anywhere nowadays,' he says. 'I feel very sorry for the new bands because of that, and there's a lot less new bands. You really notice that – there are fewer venues, fewer nights out, fewer things going on for bands to form a scene.' As the fashions of the scene that spawned The Maccabees in the indie sleaze era made a comeback, Weeks saw his past life through a new lens. 'We must be far enough away from that moment to look back at those pictures with a kind of giddiness,' he says. 'The colours and the weird asymmetrical haircuts and plimsoles and acrylic Perspex dangly little earrings and all of those things that, at the time, didn't feel nearly as cool as looking back at photos of The Clash. But we're far enough away from it now that it owns its identity.' The tribalism of the era, when you could tell which aisle of HMV a person would head to just by their hairstyle, holds a romantic pull for the band. 'There was still so much DIY-ness about it all,' says Weeks. 'There was more of a look, a cohesiveness of aesthetic.' Felix recalls being at a metal bar in Camden recently, 'and they've all got a look. That made me feel really nostalgic and jealous thinking, oh, I can't remember being in a place where everyone's got this code that makes them all sort of connected.' Felix White (far left): 'We spent two and a half years in full-on mania making 'Marks to Prove It'' (Jill Furmanovsky) Though the average fan's taste may seem more diverse than ever, Hugo wonders if something was lost in the transition to pick-and-mix fandom in the streaming era. 'You used to buy one album and listen to that until you got another album. [Nowadays] you don't have to listen to one album.' He stops himself and laughs. 'Do they even listen to an album? You just dart between songs like social media, scrolling through things.' The Maccabees seem conflicted about social media generally – especially its demands for self-promotion. 'When Marks to Prove It came out in 2015,' Felix recalls, 'we had a long conversation about whether we should even put on the Instagram that the album's out. We spent two and a half years in full-on mania making this record and it was generally like, is it naff to say the album is out today?' 'When you think what kids like the young artists now are expected to do, it's just, like, mind-blowing in comparison to how things worked for us,' Hugo says. 'We were so fortunate to be able to make stuff as a group of people and not be in this constantly competitive environment.' 'Just being not part of promotion,' Weeks marvels. 'Yeah, it was always someone else in control,' says Doyle. 'Deliver the artwork and they would promote it by getting posters up or whatever it was,' adds Hugo. I'd love to have seen Nick Drake's Instagram. Imagine him asking people to swipe up and share Felix White The sort of 'savviness' that self-promotion requires was not what set them on their way, notes Weeks, picking out current bands he likes – Divorce, Caroline, and Black Country, New Road – who have 'accidental alchemy' but also manage to be engaging on Instagram, without having to lay bare their 'private, inner workings'. 'I'd love to have seen Nick Drake's Instagram,' says Felix, laughing. 'Imagine him asking people to swipe up and share.' It's clear that as they prepare to play All Points East, headlining a bill that includes Irish sensation CMAT and indie stalwarts Bombay Bicycle Club, laughter and good vibes have returned to The Maccabees. 'Everyone's in a good headspace and connecting with each other, and that's allowed it to be stronger,' notes Hugo. Which raises the question: will there be more music from The Maccabees in their forties? 'Do you think that means we would make better music or worse music?' asks Felix. It'll be a different stage of life, for better or worse, I reply. 'It'll be slower,' laughs Hugo. 'There's a good feeling about it,' Felix says, with a wry smile. 'It's tempting…' The Maccabees headline All Points East on 24 August in Victoria Park; last tickets are available here . Reissues of their albums 'Colour It In' and 'Given To The Wild' are released on limited edition vinyl on 22 August. You can pre-order here
The Independent
23 minutes ago
- The Independent
Anthony Joshua teases surprise move into another sport amid Jake Paul showdown talks
Anthony Joshua has taken to social media to make a plea to Matchroom boss Eddie Hearn over a business venture in a different sport. Since turning professional in 2013 Joshua has been attached to the Matchroom banner, a partnership that led to two-time world champion status for the 2012 Olympic gold medallist. Currently sidelined as he recovers from elbow surgery he underwent earlier this year, Joshua appears to be brainstorming ideas for life after boxing, suggesting to Hearn that they tackle football agency together. He posted on his Instagram story: 'Eddie Hearn, the family has conquered darts, snooker, pool, boxing, fishing, golf, owning a football club & you've had a presence in basketball, netball & gymnastics. 'I believe 'we' could look at the football agency industry and have a strong presence. 'Imagine we help manager the player who helped England win the World Cup. 'Call me tomorrow mate.' Eddie Hearn's father, founder of Matchroom Barry Hearn, owned English Football League club Leyton Orient for the best part of two decades, but that is the limit of the family's direct involvement in the sport. However, Matchroom's success across a variety of sports would give them instant authority in the world of football. There has been some overlap with football agencies and promotions in the past, with one of the biggest companies in soccer, Wasserman, buying Team Sauerland and creating Wasserman Boxing in 2021. In May, Joshua confirmed that he was exploring the possibility of buying shares in hometown football club Watford. The Hornets have bounced between the Premier League and Championship over the past 20 years, but whilst Joshua is fond of the club, it appeared to be more of a financial decision. He told Seconds Out: "We wanted to move into private equity, venture capital funds. As you earn, naturally, you want to save. "So rather than me spending recklessly I'm trying to invest money into certain asset classes and that was an opportunity that presented itself. 'Nothing's come of it yet. It's a serious investment. If it comes off it's one that should do well. 'If they went back to the Premier League, then I'd need to get a shop on Market Street because the traffic that would be coming through Watford would be phenomenal. 'If we don't do it then good luck to them anyway because they're a great team." Speculation has surrounded Joshua in recent days, with rumours about his next opponent. Latest Queensberry recruit Tony Yoka is one mooted option, but Jake Paul's camp have claimed that talks with Matchroom have started regarding a potential bout between their fighter and Joshua. DAZN Matchroom, Queensberry, Golden Boy, Misfits, PFL, BKFC, GLORY and more. An Annual Saver subscription is a one-off cost of £119.99 / $224.99 (for 12 months access), that's just 64p / $1.21 per fight. There is also a Monthly Flex Pass option (cancel any time) at £24.99 / $29.99 per month. A subscription includes weekly magazine shows, comprehensive fight library, exclusive interviews, behind-the-scenes documentaries, and podcasts and vodcasts.
The Independent
23 minutes ago
- The Independent
Heathrow's third runway plan is wrong – and not just because of noise and pollution
Here we go again. To say there is a deja vu aspect to the latest proposal to build Heathrow's third runway is an understatement. For reasons that are not clear, Sir Keir Starmer has determined the airport's expansion to be a key plank in the government's economic growth strategy. Seemingly, he did not take into account the issues that grounded the plans in the past, as far back as 1968 – namely, Heathrow's unfortunate and unavoidable proximity to the M25, the rivers and their valleys that cross that part of west London, the additional noise pollution, and the need for improved and costly transport links to and from the centre of the capital that will result from the vast uplift in passengers. On the constant sound from the increased number of planes landing and taking off, the prime minister will insist that great technological strides have been made in curbing the din. It is true that new aircraft are less noisy. However, they are still extremely audible, there will be more of them, and they will be flying over a heavily residential area. As for the rest, nothing has altered fundamentally, environmentally and logistically, since Heathrow last submitted a scheme, pre-Covid. Inflation means the bill is now an eye-watering £49bn. The bill, ultimately, will be borne by the air passenger, and Heathrow is already the most expensive airport in the world. Will the airlines and their customers stomach at least a doubling in charges? There is the thorny problem, too, of public transport to and from London. The London mayor will be expected to find a way to enable an extra 60 million people a year to use Heathrow. Transport for London is strapped for cash, struggling to upgrade the Tube network. How the additional demand will be met is not clear. What has shifted as well is the nature of air travel. Post-pandemic, business travel is down and looks unlikely to recover – that, certainly, is what the industry is saying. During the outbreak, holding meetings remotely came into its own and employers took a hard look at their budgets – Zoom or Teams often represent a better alternative in executive time and expense. That therefore raises a major doubt about one of the main claims made for Heathrow's extension. It is said to be necessary to enhance London and the UK's standing in the business world, but how, if the commercial users are not there? There has been movement too, and not of the positive kind, in attitude towards Heathrow the operator. The power outage that shut down the plum in Starmer's vision for resurgence and global acclaim was a shocking episode; it not only highlighted a neglected infrastructure but also a failure of management. Thomas Woldbye, who is seeking permission to build this national project, is the same boss who slept through the night as Britain's busiest airport ceased to function. Heathrow's reputation in the sector was already poor, but this took it to a new low. Woldbye has an idea that is different from the one previously suggested, which is to build the third runway over the M25, taking the motorway underneath – and all without any disruption to road users. This is fanciful even without a track record that hardly inspires confidence. Which raises another question. Why? Why should Heathrow as a company get to preside over the airport's improvement and reap the benefits? If we're all agreed that it is a vital national asset, holding a pivotal place in the economy, then why should the incumbent be in charge, not to mention entrusted, with its development? Those who wax lyrical about Heathrow's importance like to reminisce about how Britain led the transformation of international aviation. Boosting the airport is seen as completing that journey. It is the case that we once did. That was in the Margaret Thatcher era, when British Airways was freed from the shackles of state ownership. Thatcher did more than that, though. She enabled and encouraged competition, giving a steer to the challengers and disruptors, notably to Richard Branson at Virgin and Michael Bishop at British Midland. The newly privatised BA was forced to raise its game, and together, these three set new standards. There appears to be an assumption that Woldbye's company must be given the job. But there is another option. Surinder Arora, the self-made billionaire who has masterminded the building of leading hotels at Heathrow and other airports and is a substantial Heathrow landowner, has his own remedy. His is much cheaper, envisaging a shorter runway that does not affect the M25. It is easy to dismiss Arora. But he is popular with the airlines, he rails rightly against Heathrow's pricing, and he knows a thing or two about customer service. He also possesses heavyweight advisers in the shape of Bechtel, the US engineering, construction and project management giant. He deserves to be taken seriously. Heathrow needs a competitor. Likewise, if neither the airport operator nor Arora is selected and the third runway is again kiboshed, then surely serious thought must be given to expanding rival airports. Heathrow has been resting on its laurels for too long. As for Starmer, he perhaps should ask himself how it is that someone who professes to be forensic legally is so capable of displaying rushes of blood to the head politically. Giving Heathrow such prominence smacks of impetuousness. He's done it and has been left with an almighty headache.
