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‘Being told “Don’t be silly” as a child really pissed me off, so I thought, OK, I’ll be silly for a living then.’

– Miranda

The comedy stork delivered Miranda Katharine Hart Dyke to her parents in Torquay on 14 December 1972. She was joined by her sister Alice Louisa in 1975. There is a ‘laughs as therapy’ school of thought that believes comedians have usually suffered a troubled childhood they are trying to cope with. In many ways, Miranda’s upbringing was a privileged one: her father was naval captain David Hart Dyke, commander of the HMS Coventry during the Falklands War, and her mother Diana Margaret Luce, daughter of Sir William Henry Tucker Luce (former British Governor and Commander in Chief of Aden). Speaking on Frank Skinner’s TV series Opinionated, Miranda seemed coy about her aristocratic heritage, commenting, ‘Well, I suppose strictly I’m from an upper-class background but I wouldn’t say I’m upper class. The family goes back to the 12th century and my aunt and uncle live in a castle, three rooms of which they can’t afford to run – that’s how posh I am!’

Miranda’s uncle, born Richard Luce, is in fact The Rt Hon. The Lord Luce KG GCVO PC DL – all those letters at the end marking him as a member of the Order of the Garter (a ‘Sir’), the Royal Victorian Order, the Privy Council of the United Kingdom and Deputy Lieutenant of West Sussex. After working as a Conservative MP, Lord Luce served as Governor of Gibraltar and then Lord Chamberlain to Her Majesty The Queen until 2008. Most recently, in March 2011, he succeeded Douglas Hurd as High Steward of Westminster. So, not your average uncle then, but, as a former Minister for the Arts (1985–90), it must be quite a delight for him to see his niece Miranda flying the flag for female comics in the field.

The family moved to Petersfield, Hampshire, where Miranda spent the majority of her childhood, except when, like her comic counterpart, she was sent off to boarding school. But her comfortable upbringing suffered disruption at the age of nine when, in the spring of 1982, her father’s ship was sent out to protect the troops in the Falklands War. He was in command of the Royal Navy Type 42 destroyer HMS Coventry, one of three ships sent to ward off aircraft and protect the troops, 20 miles ahead of the fleet. He found it hard being away from his wife and daughters, the only contact being through letters, which arrived by helicopter and were quickly distributed around the ship. The men on board had to write swift replies in time for the second chopper that would take them away. Captain Hart Dyke sent sketches of the ship in action and received letters and drawings from his daughters in reply. He later recalled a particular drawing Miranda did of Coventry to give to his Petty Officer Steward. The man in question, Mick Stuart, was very touched by the gesture and pinned it up on the pantry wall.

His main consolation during this difficult time was that his wife and family weren’t the only ones in the area going through it. Miranda’s mother Diana – known affectionately as ‘D’ – played an important role supporting other families in Hampshire who had husbands or sons fighting in the Falklands. But David kept a stiff upper lip throughout the operation. As he wrote in his memoirs, Four Weeks in May, ‘The captain could not be seen by his sailors to be moping.’

But after one of their sister ships, Sheffield, sank, things were looking bleak for the brave father. His wife was understandably worried, doubled with the weight of other families looking to her for comfort, including the wife of Sam Salt, the ship’s captain. Meanwhile, his daughters had their mind on other things. Miranda wrote to him about her upcoming cycling proficiency test and some new shoes she had acquired, with only one brief sentence referring to the sinking of Sheffield, which she described as ‘very sad’.

Letters continued to be a source of reassurance for Captain Hart Dyke. He received one from his brother-in-law, Richard Luce, after he had been to visit D and the girls. He reassured the captain that they had overcome the shock of HMS Sheffield and were getting along well, and that he even played some duets with Miranda and her mother.

His mother wrote to him saying the girls were being wonderful – ‘Miranda especially helpful and understanding – and looking so pretty with gorgeous liquid brown eyes like Devon pools’. Here, she was referring to a stretch of the River Teign where he used to play when staying with his grandparents when his father was away at sea. He says, ‘Those deep brown pools, with their golden shingle which shone through to the surface in the sunlight, were magical, and they perfectly evoked Miranda’s eyes.’

As things became more stressful on board, the captain found the letters something of a distraction. In a 2007 BBC documentary largely based on his memoirs, he remembered, ‘I was very keen to get a last letter to say everything was well at home, the children were all right, and then I wanted to forget home. Put it behind me, on a sort of happy note… You really have to concentrate on the people you are leading and the matters in hand.’

His crew certainly needed him. HMS Coventry’s fate went from bad to worse and, eventually, on 25 May 1982, the destroyer was hit by Argentinean aircraft. The crew were prepared for a day filled with action as it was Argentina’s national day, and emotions were going to be high. They fired a Sea Dart to ward the enemy off, but it flew straight into the hills. The nearby Broadsword had a technical hitch with their missile, so were unable to shoot the Argentinean aircraft down. They opened fire but, once out of missiles, with machine gun fire desperately firing, were reduced to waiting in silence. Two 1,000lb bombs fell on the ship, their explosions letting off a flash and unbearable heat. Many on board suffered severe flesh wounds; Hart Dyke himself sustained burns to the face, hands and wrists. While the ship’s company attempted to escape, the captain awoke to a near-empty cabin and, suffocating from the smoke, felt near to admitting defeat. He recalled seeing severe devastation, figures on fire, and began to calmly accept his fate: ‘There was no alternative but to die and so I prepared myself accordingly. Suffocation begins with a welcome calming effect, yet it is only one small step away from collapse and death. I was not far from it… I had thought of home and, ridiculous as it seems now, wondered who was going to mow the lawn in my absence. Then my mind had gone blank.’

Although he has no memory of how it happened, the captain found himself in clearer air. Despite the ship having no power and being in the process of sinking, he ordered Lieutenant-Commander Mike O’Connell to send the ship east into safer waters. But it was clear that the ship was going nowhere. Captain Hart Dyke felt helpless but, with help from the ship’s company, finally managed to escape.

On that fateful day, 19 crew members were killed and 30 injured. Some were sent to a hospital ship, while the less serious cases – including Miranda’s father – received first aid on the nearby Broadsword. Officers and public figures paid tribute including the then prime minister, Margaret Thatcher: ‘Our fighting men are engaged on one of the most remarkable military operations of modern times… Our hearts go out to all the families who had men in those ships. We in Britain know the reality of war. We know its hazards and its dangers. We know the task which faces our fighting men.’

It was important to all men – and families – involved to know they had not been fighting in vain.

But when the news was announced on the BBC’s World Service, the name of the ship was not mentioned and, even when it was, families had to wait hours to find out if their loved ones were safe. It caused severe worry back at home. In the first letter he received after the incident, D told David how difficult that night had been, how she had tried to distract herself by making up beds and sorting clothes. Eventually, the call came and D knew her husband was safe. It was what she described as ‘the most wonderful moment [she] can remember’.

During that time of uncertainty, D decided it was best not to tell Miranda and Alice that their father’s ship had sunk, and so she sent them off to school as normal. But people at school had heard about the ship and were naturally concerned for the children’s welfare. Miranda recalls one teacher asking how she was and her response – being something of a hypochondriac at the time – was ‘I’ve got a bit of a cold, but I’m fine, thanks.’

When the children got home, their mother told them the terrible news. In interviews, Miranda has tended to put a comic sheen on the experience, saying she responded, ‘Oh dear. Can I have a flapjack?’, but her father’s memoirs paint a more serious reaction. ‘[Miranda] sat down, went very red in the face and kept repeating, “Oh dear, oh dear, poor Daddy, oh dear.”’

When David Hart Dyke was finally reunited with his family, it was an understandably emotional moment. His wife and daughters were led up to his cabin on the QE2 when it came in to berth, and he and D had a tearful embrace. Once back in Petersfield, his life regained some normality, but he refused to speak publicly about the traumatic event for 25 years. In 1990, he retired from the armed services and now lives with D in Hambledon, Hampshire, near to Miranda’s childhood home.

During its time in service, HMS Coventry brought down more enemy aircraft than any other ship in the Falklands, in its order to entice the enemy away from and protect British troops in San Carlos bay. Years later, he spoke pragmatically about the realities of conflict: ‘That’s war. It’s like a game of chess. You’ve got to give up some pieces to get checkmate at the end. I was one of those pieces’.

Captain Hart Dyke was made an aide-de-camp to the Queen and was stationed in the United States. In the meantime, Miranda was sent away to boarding school in Berkshire. It doesn’t seem that her father’s ordeal affected the future comic any more than the small changes she experienced in her home life – a lot of women coming round for tea and the anxiety of cycling proficiency tests. Maybe she was to find distress waiting for her at boarding school, that she would have to therapeutically work out on the stage of a comedy club at a later date.

Or maybe not, for Miranda has described her school days as the happiest of her life. She attended Downe House boarding school in Berkshire, an independent girls-only place of learning. Karl Simpson, the current Director of Admissions, says, ‘Downe House is not so much an independent girls’ boarding school, it is more a school for independent girls.’ This maxim seems to be reflected by the success of the school’s alumni.

Miranda aside, former pupils at the school have included award-winning comedian Laura Solon, BBC sports presenter Clare Balding (who was head girl while Miranda was there), Sophie Dahl (and her mother Tessa), actress Geraldine James OBE, and even the possible future Queen Kate Middleton, who attended for one term before moving to Marlborough College. In an interview on The One Show, Balding – who Miranda remains friends with – reminded her of the school ethos: ‘You know what we were taught at school – stand up for yourself, be independent in thought and deed, pull your socks up, don’t pull your sleeves down, don’t fiddle with your hair, don’t spend more time trying to make your classmates laugh than you do concentrating on lessons and, above all, don’t show off. Sad to say, you’ve made a living out of doing just that. And rather successfully.’

Indeed, rather than it being a nasty experience to forget, Miranda has huge fondness for her days at Downe House. Despite sporting a head brace and retainers for some of her time there, she was always popular: ‘I flitted between gangs; it was a deliberate choice. If you were good at sport, then you were popular, and I was very good at lacrosse, if I say so myself. I played for Berkshire. I’m a lean, sporty woman trapped in a fat body.’

Hart has used her school days as inspiration for her comedy. In an interview on the red button following the first episode of the second series of Miranda, Downe House’s Clare Balding said that she recognised the character of Tilly, played by Sally Phillips. Phillips is a well-respected comedy actress and writer who made her mark on Lee and Herring’s TV series Fist of Fun in the mid-1990s, though she is probably best known for her performances in Channel 4’s Smack the Pony and the Bridget Jones films. Her character Tilly is introduced in the first episode of series one, ‘Date’. Miranda dreads meeting up with her old boarding-school friends for lunch (including Fanny, played by Katy Wix), but she gives in. ‘As Tilly says, when you’re dumped in a boarding-school dorm aged nine, you all bond for life. Even if you hate each other’.

Miranda wrote the series herself and says Tilly’s language is based on the sort she heard during her time at boarding school. ‘They do that thing of making English words sound a little bit European by going, “Marveloso!”’ In the first episode alone, Tilly conjures up such classically quotable lines as ‘Utmost cooliosity, kissingtons, marvelismos, brillo pads’, and variations on Miranda’s nickname Queen Kong: ‘You’re the Empress of Kong! You’re Kongdeliza Rice!’ It also introduces her recurring catchphrase ‘Bear with… bear with…’, used whenever she pauses conversation to look at a message on her phone. When she has finished, she returns to her reluctantly patient company with ‘Back!’

Throughout the series, Miranda is referred to as Queen Kong (because of her height, of course), among the other ridiculous nicknames cited. Miranda admits this actually happened at Downe School – she knew a Tilly, Fanny and Podge, and in the series refers to Milly, Bella, Bunty, Hooty and Pussy. Claire Balding (aka ‘Balders’ or simply ‘Head Girl’) remembers her friend Sarah who everyone called Piffle (‘because she talked such piffle all the time’). Viewers are left wondering who Tilly is referring to when she says, ‘Stinky was the best head girl ever! Do you remember when she immac’d a squirrel?!’

On her blog for the BBC during the show’s broadcast, Miranda said that, by the third week of rehearsals, the cast had all taken to speaking in Tilly’s language. ‘It’s very contagious. Patricia Hodge will leave a rehearsal room saying “missingtons”.’

In an interview for the Sunday Times Culture magazine, Miranda suggested that these characters are exaggerated versions of those at Downe House. ‘My school didn’t have lots of moneyed, King’s Road Tilly types, so I got lucky, as boarding schools go.’

Miranda vividly remembers the first time she made someone laugh – doing an impression of her primary school’s headmaster. By mimicking his bizarre idiosyncrasies, Miranda made her mum and sister laugh hysterically. From then on, little Miss Hart got the bug. On ITV in 2010, she told the Loose Women panel: ‘I wasn’t aware I craved the laughter, but I wanted to be on stage. I just love silliness and I find life quite boring. I don’t like the responsibility of being an adult – I want to be making fun and lightness out of things. Being told “Don’t be silly” as a child really pissed me off, so I thought, “OK, I’ll be silly for a living then.”’

Destined for comedy, Miranda was always the class clown and, as she told Alan Carr on Channel 4’s Chatty Man, ‘I always thought I was hilarious, whether I was or not.’ In her formative years, Miranda got her kicks performing silly pranks and practical jokes, whether staying in a cupboard all lesson, only to reveal herself two minutes before the end with a ‘Sorry I’m late’, or going through the hassle of getting a sheep from the nearby fields and putting it in her dormitory, just to hear their teacher say, ‘Who’s put a sheep in here?’ Very silly indeed.

She has recalled one particular classroom prank, although denies performing it herself. Once in class with a certain Mrs Thwaites, who had a very long, thin plait, one of her classmates cut it off while she was facing the blackboard. It’s this sort of carelessness, common in childhood where there’s little awareness of any consequences, which is replicated throughout Miranda.

There are several moments in the series which hint towards those sorts of classroom antics. In the third episode of series two, a flashback shows the young Miranda galloping down the school corridor. A teacher shouts at her, ‘Hart! Don’t run in the corridor!’

She replies confidently, ‘It’s a gallop, miss. I think all businessmen should do it, and one day I hope to tell the nation via a TV show.’

The teacher humours her. ‘Oh, Hart. With that naïve optimism, you gallop, girl. It’s the only you you’ll ever know.’ That (presumably imaginary) teacher could not have been more wrong.

In an interview with the BBC’s Writersroom website, Miranda confesses that she has wanted to be a comedian as long as she can remember, to the point of wanting her own show on the BBC. Aged only six, she had seen Tommy Cooper, and knew even then that making people laugh was what she wanted to do. She has mentioned other comic greats as inspiration – Morecambe and Wise (Eric Morecambe especially), French and Saunders, Tony Hancock and Joyce Grenfell. And there are similarities between Hart and all of her comic heroes:

She and Hancock both star in eponymous sitcoms playing exaggerated versions of themselves. The audience feel warmth through the failure and ineptitude of Miranda’s character the same way they did for Hancock. The same feeling could be said to be elicited by Tommy Cooper and his charmingly flawed magic tricks. Like French and Saunders, she isn’t afraid of being a female clown – whether it be dressing in unflattering outfits, or falling fantastically arse over tit. She’s got the well-spoken inflections of Joyce Grenfell. But perhaps most of all, she is the modern, female incarnation of the late Eric Morecambe. When she turns to camera with that look, we get a mischievous feeling we’re part of something the others on the screen aren’t. We’re in on the joke.

Miranda has said that, when she saw Morecambe’s looks to camera on TV, she thought, ‘Ooh! He’s looking at me; I want to do that.’ And do it she has, with great aplomb. On the red carpet, when she was nominated for a BAFTA, she told one reporter she couldn’t quite believe her luck: ‘Twelve-year-old me would be going mental right now.’

She has that peculiar British brand of comedy – a combination of self-deprecation, sarcasm and slapstick. She blames being away at boarding school for missing out on seeing much of the alternative comedy scene of the 1980s but her influences have brought to the public a much-missed brand of humour: the light-entertainment style of the 1970s, a nostalgic kind of reminiscence for some of us, and something fun and new for others. Our beloved Miranda Hart was always destined to be a star of the comedy world – and wanted it more than anything – but, as we shall discover in the following chapters, it didn’t come easily to her.