Wayne Dobson has left us. That sentence feels impossible to write, not because it’s unexpected, as he battled multiple sclerosis for decades, but because Wayne’s presence was so full, so vivid, that the idea of him not being in the world feels… wrong. He was, in every way, unforgettable.
The British public remembers him as the fast-talking magician from A Kind of Magic, charming millions on Saturday night television, his primetime television series that aired from 1990 to 1992. The show featured Wayne performing a mix of fast-paced comedy magic, illusions, and sleight of hand. His sidekick was Ringo, a puppet rabbit with a Liverpudlian accent produced by the iconic Spitting Image team. Their onscreen banter offered an anarchic contrast to the slick nature of the rest of the show. Prior to that, his appearance on the Royal Variety Show at the London Palladium in 1989 was so unique that it remains a fondly remembered event among the British public to this day.
He found his footing in magic through the Leicester Magic Circle, where he was mentored by Roy Johnson and introduced to the legendary Ken Brooke and Pat Page, all of whom recognized in Wayne a rare spark. He turned professional at 22 and his first shows were in social clubs and rough venues across the north of England, sometimes lugging props through snow and sleeping in his car between gigs. These venues taught him how to read a room, survive harsh crowds, and hold their attention. These clubs were Wayne’s crucible. They shaped a performer who would one day make magic look effortless on TV, but who knew how hard you had to fight for even polite applause in the toughest rooms.
It was undoubtedly this hard-earned training that taught him the tenacity for which he was known. He never let MS create boundaries for his magic. Wayne had every reason to become bitter. When his illness struck at the peak of his fame, it didn’t just challenge his body; it also threatened his independence, his mobility, and his voice. But it never touched his spirit. He lived for over 30 years with a body that increasingly refused to cooperate, and yet somehow, every day, he found a way to make the rest of us feel like he was the lucky one.
“I don’t drink, I don’t go out, I don’t eat what I want,” he once said. “Giving up cigarettes would just mean I’d die of nothing.” That was Wayne: dry, funny, unfiltered. He didn’t want to hear your pity. He wanted to hear your laugh.
In the last decade, Wayne’s days became structured out of necessity, but never empty. He started every morning early, alone in bed with his thoughts, planning shows he’d never perform himself but that others would take to stages around the world. Even when he couldn’t move a finger, he was still shaping magic. From his voice-controlled computer, he Skyped friends, shared tricks, and lit up at any talk of magic. He endured the slow breakdown of physical function with unflinching honesty and a comedian’s eye for the absurd. “In my dreams I’m always able-bodied, and I always go a storm,” he said. In real life, too, during his few magic convention appearances, he went down a storm—albeit seated.
He had a wicked sense of humor, often directing it at himself. “I’m not disabled,” he’d say, “just a lazy bastard.” He championed the work of the charity MS-UK, serving as an ambassador and speaking openly about the need for research. He refused to become a victim of this awful circumstance. “I never had high hopes of a cure,” he wrote in his biography, “so I put it behind me and tried my best to keep looking forward.” And in typical Wayne manner: “Let’s look on the bright side… my shoes never wear out.”
When I helped with Wayne’s autobiography, I was most struck by one paragraph that stopped me in my tracks: “At 65, I can honestly say that I’ve never been more content with my life since stardom went out the window. I am surrounded by a wonderful, wide circle of friends, family, and carers who all contribute to making the bad days good and the good days even better. I’m happy in my skin.”
Wayne Dobson is survived by his close friends, caregivers, and the community of magicians he shaped with his ideas and encouragement. His spirit, irreverence, and legacy will live on forever. He truly will be unforgettable.