Last week's annual Johnners Club' Dinner in the Lord's Long Room attracted over 200 devotees of one of the best-loved voices on radio to a function that raised several thousand pounds for the Brian Johnston Memorial Trust. Founded by his widow, Pauline, The Truss' (as he would surely have dubbed it) has raised considerable sums to promote cricket in schools and youth clubs, to help young cricketers in need of financial support, and to further disabled cricket.

Brian Johnston swiftly transformed the Test Match Special' box from a fairly dour and disciplined broadcasting studio into a haven of cakes and comedy when he joined us in 1970. He had commentated for BBC Television since 1946 but was banished when his jovial style did not fit in with a new regime. This proved to be a giant blessing in disguise for him and for us.

His immense love of cricket and incredible sense of fun ensured that he made no enemies and was welcomed wherever he went. At heart, Johnners was a frustrated music hall comedian. After spending the Second World War as a technical adjutant of a tank regiment and winning the MC, he had escaped the family coffee business, been invited to join the BBC staff and made his name in a variety of radio roles ranging from In Town Tonight's' roving reporter to succeeding Franklin Englemann in Down Your Way'. His happiest moments occurred when the former programme visited the Victoria Palace and he was invited to take part in the Crazy Gang's show. Probably the highlight of his entire career was singing Underneath the Arches' with Bud Flanagan.

Johnners had an inexhaustible fund of stories and could recite Max Miller's complete act without a note. He loved to pose daft questions. Now, Bearders. You've studied the Good Book. Which two ice-cream sellers are mentioned in the Bible?' When I failed to guess them, his face would light up gleefully as he trumpeted Lyons of Judea and Walls of Jericho!' He would then give his victim a second chance by asking What high jump record appears in the Bible?' No one has ever guessed and the Lord cleared the temple!' BJ was commentating at The Oval when we heard this loud rasping noise behind us. It was coming from Fred Trueman. Continuing to describe the action, Johnners asked What are you doing, Fred?' Er, er. I'm filing my nails, Brian.' Fred replied, somewhat baffled to be asked. That's an odd thing to do, Fred! I always throw mine away!' Johnners also flooded the box with nicknames that were to echo around the world's airwaves, probably because he couldn't remember our real ones. He was solely responsible for my being dubbed The Bearded Wonder and it was Brian who then reduced that epithet to Bearders.

In stage parlance, Johnners was a great 'corpser' and his fits of the giggles, some lasting several minutes, caused several listeners to have road accidents or burn their ironing. His reaction to Aggers describing Botham's hit-wicket dismissal as failing to get his leg over' ended with him trying to finish reading the scorecard in a Michael Bentine falsetto, followed by 40 seconds of giggles and silence. Brian was mortified that he had been so unprofessional until he heard a recording of the episode. The Leg Over' episode has gone into broadcasting history and Brian played a tape of it at every function he did from then on.

His final guest in the TMS feature A View from the Boundary' was Roy Hudd. Johnners was Roy's greatest admirer and he would have loved to have swapped roles. They got on like a house on fire. When play resumed, they sat behind us in the cramped old box at The Oval and Roy told a succession of jokes. Johnners was enthralled and during his next commentary stint he miraculously wove in all eight tales without missing a ball or interrupting the flow of play.

Brian carried on working into his eighties, mainly to help fund the private education of his ever-increasing brood of grandchildren. One morning he showed me a letter from the bursar of one grandson's school. A new typist must have been responsible because it read: Dear Mr Johnston, we regret to inform you that your grandson's fees have been increased to £3,500 per anum.' What do you think I should do, Bearders?' asked granddad. Before I could answer, Fred Trueman snatched it from me, read it and growled, Johnners. If I were you I'd write back and tell them you'd sooner go on paying through the nose!'