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Get Up and Go! / Mooncat & Co

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Even the most experienced of us find the simplest aspects of life a strange affair, so, combined with the number of us humans rushing around from place to place, navigating our way through this tumultuous landscape could easily appear impossible to someone looking in from the outside.

Just take the number of shops down your local high street, every single one of them has a purpose and it’s a function we’ve learned over time e.g. you know to buy your eggs from one shop and your electric drill from another shop. However, we’re certainly not born with this knowledge and, with our minds as blank canvasses, we have to gradually piece together how the fabric of the world is woven together, otherwise we’ll try and drill holes with eggs.

For an alien visitor, matters are more complex. There’s no prior experience to draw upon, so the habits, cultures and emotions of Earth’s inhabitants must result in an exponential sense of bewilderment – just imagine trying to explain the phenomena whereby a sock always goes missing in the wash.

In fact, a popular exercise set by school teachers is for their pupils to describe an activity in extreme detail for an alien who has descended from the skies. Whilst this is restricted purely to the imagination, occasionally an alien does come down to Earth and their curiosity is more than eager to Get Up and Go!

Genre: Children's
Channel: ITV (Yorkshire)
Transmission: 1982 - 85

Leaving his home planet of the moon and descending down through the Earth’s atmosphere, Mooncat (operated and voiced by David Claridge) has arrived on Earth to find out more about its inhabitants. Being a newcomer to the planet and its curious ways, Mooncat can’t exactly live on his own, so he sets up home with Beryl (Beryl Reid) and Stephen (Stephen Boxer) who help to guide and entertain him with stories and music.


Mooncat has also brought along some of his moon technology, namely the Moon Machine which allows him to peer through either a circle, square or triangle window to monitor those who dwell and toil on Earth. Oh, and he can teleport too.


Looking through the colourful windows of the Moon Machine, Mooncat finds himself examining the life of a window cleaner, investigating where the milkman gets his milk from (to ensure that Mooncat can enjoy his beloved Cornflakes), watching a father and daughter take a trip to the library to borrow some books and even delving into horticultural matters by checking out time lapsed footage of mushrooms and plants growing. Mooncat doesn’t want to limit himself to being a mere observer, though, so he’s soon cleaning windows with Beryl or trying to grow plants by planting dolly mixtures.


Helping to back up these dissections of life on Earth, Beryl and Stephen read stories to Mooncat which centre on the adventures of the little girl Billie and her animal friends Woodley the dog, Monkey, Mrs Pinkerton-Trunks the elephant and Mr Milford Haven the lion.

Reinforcing the episodes’ themes, these short stories see Billie and the animals panicking about the arrival of a man with a ladder (or ‘a lamb with a madder’ as Monkey mispronounces) who’s actually just a window cleaner and an even more simpler setup where Billie and the gang grow some plants (one of which is named Dorothy Perkins).


Eventually, Stephen moves out of the shared house and goes to work at a local playgroup, but he still manages to find time to visit Beryl and Mooncat every week. Life with Beryl can’t go on forever and, fulfilling one of his lifelong dreams, Stephen opens a second-hand shop along with Mooncat in Mooncat & Co.

Helped by a never ending stream of customers such as Pat Coombes, Wilf Lunn and Patsy Rowlands, Mooncat continues to learn about the ways of the world by looking into telling the truth, the pain of missing friends and trips to the opticians. The final series of Mooncat & Co finds Stephen’s brother Berni (Berni Clifton) taking over the shop whilst Stephen is away buying stock.

Get Up and Start Filming

Get Up and Go! ran for 56 episodes over three series between 1981 – 1983 whilst Mooncat & Co managed two series and notched up 32 episodes between 1984 – 85. Both productions were written by Rick Vanes with Shirley Isherwood and Sally Wells penning the illustrated stories in Get Up and Go! and Mooncat & Co respectively. Produced by Yorkshire Television, the two shows aired in the lunchtime slot on ITV and repeats followed shortly after each series’ initial run.


Rick Vanes had previously worked on scripts for Yorkshire Television and he remembers this association leading to the creation of Get Up and Go!:

“Lesley Rogers / Lesley Smith (she used both names during the course of the series) was asked to take over as producer on a long-running series called Stepping Stones, and wanted to put her own stamp on it. Lesley had given me my first break as a writer, allowing me to write a test script for an educational series for deaf children that she was planning.


She liked the script and I went on to write two series of the show, Insight, and so when she was given Stepping Stones, she asked me to write it and come up with some ideas. She wanted it to be entertaining, but full of good educational content for pre-school children, and fancied having a puppet in it.


I came up with a cat from Outer Space, who wanted to find out about life on earth - thereby teaching the viewers at the same time - and named him Mooncat. It was a variation on the name that the early Beatles briefly gave themselves: Johnny & the Moondogs.


My other big idea was that instead of having a young presenter (most pre-school series at the time seemed to be fronted by bouncy young things, often wearing dungarees) we should have a grandma figure. I said my ideal would be Beryl Reid… and everybody laughed. Fat chance!


After my original suggestion of casting Beryl, Lesley Rogers approached her agent. Lesley was utterly charming and persuasive, and managed to sweet-talk Beryl into considering doing it. Lesley, a researcher and I went to have lunch with Beryl at her cottage by the Thames, and by the end of the afternoon she had agreed to do it. I think the clincher was that Beryl was dotty about cats - the cottage was full of them”


Starring opposite Beryl Reid, of course, was Stephen Boxer who remembers securing his place on Get Up and Go! whilst playing a role far removed from anything Mooncat ever encountered:

“Get Up and Go! was due to be filmed in Leeds at YTV. I was playing the tetraplegic patient in ‘Whose Life is it Anyway?’ at Leeds Playhouse. Whether this qualified me for a job as presenter of a children’s programme I don’t know, but I think our first producer, Lesley Rogers, came to see it, we met and that was it. I was chuffed to get the job, I have much to thank Lesley for”


Integral to the development of Mooncat was the man behind the puppet, David Claridge, who would later go on to create Roland Rat. In fact, it was the rapid and burgeoning fame brought on by Roland Rat which would mean that David Claridge was unable to carry over to Mooncat & Co; in his place, puppeteer Christopher Leith stepped in to operate and voice Mooncat.

Going back to the early stages of production, Vanes was highly impressed with David Claridge’s talent:

“We spent a whole day in London auditioning puppeteers, without finding anyone who really impressed us. Last on our list was David Claridge, who was appearing on stage in a Mickey Dolenz production, operating a dog puppet, which he controlled with rods while wearing a blackout suit (and remaining in full view of the audience). Because of his theatre matinee commitments, he couldn’t make the auditions, so we had arranged to see him in his flat late in the day.


We nearly didn’t make it, because Lesley was dispirited and exhausted and tempted to take an earlier train back to Leeds - but I felt we ought to see him, and she agreed. That was a great decision! David gave a brilliant audition, talking to us and operating the dog puppet at the same time. At one stage it even started humping my leg while we were talking about the character of Mooncat - and that clinched it”



By the final series of Mooncat & Co, the cast and crew had changed considerably compared to those who had worked on the first series of Get Up and Go! as Vanes explains:

“Tragically, Lesley Rogers/Smith died of cancer at a very young age while Get Up and Go! was still running, and an experienced director/producer - Len Lurcuck - took over. The first cast change was Beryl leaving to do Smiley's People for the BBC - a major drama, so who could blame her? Between us, Len Lurcuck and I felt she was a hard act to follow, and it wouldn’t really be right to cast an actress to replace her. 

So Len and I came up with the idea of Stephen acquiring a shop and getting Mooncat to help him - Mooncat & Co. This would allow us to introduce a rotating cast of characters visiting the shop, in place of Beryl. I can't remember who chose the actors and actresses who featured as visitors and friends - the task was probably just handed to the Casting Dept. And then Stephen Boxer and David Claridge left to do other things. So we brought in another puppeteer and Berni Clifton in place of Stephen”



As well as the cast and title changes, there were a number of other slight differences which affected the look and feel of the Mooncat universe as time went on. The original opening credits for Get Up and Go! featured children rampaging round at birthday parties, market stalls and libraries, but this was later replaced by the more familiar animated opening of Mooncat zooming down to Earth in a spacesuit. The first series also found John Sunderland illustrating Shirley Isherwood’s stories, but from the second series onwards, Maureen Roffey lent her artistic savvy to the proceedings.

Sending a Man to the Moon(cat)

I was far too young to catch any of Get Up and Go! when it originally aired (I wasn’t even born until shortly after the second series) and if I did manage to sit in front of Mooncat & Co then these memories are lost to that pesky biological phenomena known as infantile amnesia.

However, the more I heard about these two shows, the more I wanted to see them. After all, Rick Vanes has amassed a long list of writing credits and the fact that this includes The Riddlers is reason enough to tune in. And, wait, it also features TV legend Beryl Reid? And an up and coming David Claridge? No longer was it a case of wanting to see them, I had to see them!

Having never received a commercial release, and the last repeat airing over 30 years ago, tracking down footage of the two series was not simple. Thankfully, the BFI were able to come to my assistance and provided a selection of episodes from across the entire series for me to watch down at their viewing rooms.


Excited by this prospect, I donned my genuine mid 80s Casio watch (I always do this when revisiting the decade’s TV) and headed down to London where the streets are truly paved with archive TV – well, a small side street just off Tottenham Court Road at the very least.

Get Up and Go! immediately gets the young viewers on side by making use of a simple, familial setting which is immediately identifiable. Beryl is a dotty Grandmother type character, but one who is shot through with a thespian air and the wisdom this bestows on her underlines her eccentricity with a certain authority.  At a slightly lower position on the age spectrum is Stephen who is like a cool, older brother who can not only play guitar, but also has an immensely likeable boy next door charm.


It’s through Beryl and Stephen, of course, that the framework of experience and learning is set down for the star of the show, Mooncat. A cute, astro-cat (he still retains part of his spacesuit as a collar) who is a curious shade of turquoise, Mooncat is clearly meant to reflect the child watching and demonstrates a thirst for knowledge about the world which perfectly reflects the outlook of the young audience.

Prone to shouting out “Hooray!” Mooncat is an excitable feline and has a naïve outlook on the ways of Earth, hence his complete bafflement at concepts such as libraries and housework (to be fair, housework still confounds my natural impulses).


Operated by the enigmatic David Claridge, the puppetry behind Mooncat is crucial not just in affording the character a full range of idiosyncratic movements and expressions, but also in allowing the character to do more in the series. Rather than restricting Mooncat’s position to specially built stands, David Claridge focused heavily on the show’s production to get the best out of Mooncat as detailed by Vanes:

“David Claridge's drive to push the boundaries of puppeteering was highly important for the series –  for example, teaching us all that the puppeteer didn't necessarily have to hide behind something; he could be in full view of everyone in the studio, but unseen by the viewer because of the framing of the shot, using camera cut-off. That gave us so much more freedom in incorporating Mooncat into the action. I subsequently put that knowledge to good use in The Riddlers, where we did a lot of outside filming and I was able to script all sorts of fun stunts”

Together, the fusion of age groups and personalities provided by Beryl, Stephen and Mooncat forge a convivial atmosphere that, like all the best lineups, is built upon fantastic chemistry. Boxer remembers the time spent with his Get Up and Go! co-stars fondly:

“Beryl was a comic genius, and going out for supper she could regale us with anecdotes for hours. She had a wicked and at times coruscating wit. Twice married and divorced, if someone annoyed her on sound or elex she’d say ‘I’ve seen off two husbands. I can see you off mate.’


She was also aware of her status, and insisted on there being a ‘keylight’ for her to hone in on in the studio. All I saw were banks of general lighting, but I was happy to concur. Saying that, there was one take when I came on and stood by her with a ‘Good morning Beryl’, to which she replied tartly ‘Morning Stephen’ whilst digging me sharply in the ribs with her elbow thus removing me from her self-styled spot.

David Claridge and I became good friends and shared a house whilst shooting in Leeds. He had the most extraordinary creative imagination ranging from puppetry to pop music (he produced Monsoon’s ‘Ever So Lonely’ amongst others) to setting up a club (Skin Two in central London) and I remember him running the idea for Roland Rat past me (‘There’s this rat lives in the sewers under King’s Cross’), complete with drawings.


He could translate his imagination into form too and designed and, I think, made the original Mooncat puppet. He was an obsessive collector of Japanese robots and Transformer toys so my kids used to love visiting him”


And these hearty relationships are given a further welcome bedfellow in the guise of the Get Up and Go! format. The central element of the series is clearly education, but it’s one that celebrates a world which, despite being humdrum to the weary eyes of adults, is a never ending sense of awe and wonder to the young audience’s eyes.


Take libraries, for example, which adults may view as studious, academic places to avoid, but for children – hamstrung by limited funds – it’s a magnificent portal to the worlds of fact and fiction where, get this, you can just take the books away.

The guts of these episode themes are nicely dealt with by the filmed inserts, but this alone would be a meagre offering for anyone watching. Thankfully, Get Up and Go! eschews doing the bare minimum and makes sure that a whole package of fun is served up. That’s why we get to see Mooncat tackling these topics with a childlike glee as he writes a rhyming book with Beryl and Stephen, cleans dirty windows and does his absolute utmost to secure a pint of milk following the non-appearance of the milkman.

Solidifying these themes further are the wonderful stories provided by Shirley Isherwood. Whimsical and filled with eccentric characters, these tales embrace simplicity to their very core and contain simple plots such as Mrs Pinkerton-Trunk’s lifelong desire to have a rose garden all of her own.


Embellished with Stephen’s piano flourishes, these stories are pure nuggets of children’s fiction and somehow manage to pack a whole universe’s worth of adventure into just a few minutes. They tie in seamlessly with the rest of the program and Vanes remembers a great working relationship:

“Shirley was a factory machinist at the time, but she was trying to make it as a writer for children. Lesley had seen some of her stories and loved them, and championed her work. So she asked Shirley to write stories for the show. How it worked was that Lesley, the researchers and I developed a list of themes for each show (Sharing, Push and Pull, Taking Turns, etc.), I would write the scripts while Shirley was writing her stories, and then I would marry the two together. Shirley was lovely, and she and I became great friends”

Ensuring that there’s nowhere for the young viewers’ attention to run to, Get Up and Go! pulls one final trick out of its back pocket with a collection of songs that use rhyme and melody to add another layer of learning and, of course, the all-important fun factor. Boxer remembers the songwriting process as enjoyable and still harbours aspirations of pop stardom:

“I wrote about 80 songs over three years to Rick Vanes very smart and witty lyrics. They always suggested a melody to me so, though there was some pressure in terms of time, they were a joy to compose. David and I were constantly badgering the YTV Enterprise Dept. to issue a (then) cassette of the songs but they’re still collecting dust in a box in my cellar so I’m open to offers. When I’m feeling Ill / I Wish I Could Whistle as Well as a Bird / I Love Decorating - everyone a sure-fire hit”

Times change and Get Up and Go! becomes Mooncat & Co with the previously mentioned cast changes. And it’s still a splendid show. The loss of Beryl Reid and David Claridge is immense, of course, but their replacements take over faultlessly.


Pat Coombes is the guest presenter in the very first episode and provides a tantalisingly glimpse at what could have been the perfect long term Beryl Reid replacement, but, like many of the guest presenters, it remained a one off appearance. Meanwhile, the noticeable change in voice is a little jarring at first, but Christopher Leith brings Mooncat to life to complete a mostly seamless transition.

The format of Mooncat & Co is very much the same as Get Up and Go! and the set itself appears to be the same one, but slightly redressed to allow for the shop front and Mooncat’s bedroom to become the focal points of the action. Mooncat also introduces Robert the Robot in the first episode ‘Shop’, a toy robot who chips in intermittently with observations.


There’s a further change in the second series as Stephen Boxer departs and Berni Clifton comes in as his replacement, but Berni is a marvellous addition and there’s a fine chemistry between himself and Mooncat that helps retain the series’ soul. The first Berni Clifton episode ‘Missing You’ looks at Mooncat’s angst over Stephen’s absence and is surprisingly poignant for a pre-schooler show, but Mooncat soon perks up as he heads to the local train station to visit a photo booth and take a photo to send to Stephen.


Other episodes find Mooncat designing a map for Berni to navigate his way to the post office, Wilf Lunn visits to buy a new hat which he proceeds to pull table legs out of before putting the hat back on and levitating (no, really!) and the final episode sees Mooncat getting a pet rabbit, Ron.


This series proved to be the Mooncat’s final hurrah with Rick Vanes feeling that the series had run its course and Mooncat’s exploration of our curious little planet came to an end.

Good Kitty?

Get Up and Go! still holds endless memories for a whole generation of children born in the latter part of the 1970s, but more generalised looks at the genre seem to forget it and concentrate, instead, on much longer running shows of the era such as You and Me and Rainbow.

However, there’s a reason that Mooncat managed to maintain a near constant presence on ITV for four years and that’s down to the wealth of talent involved. Every aspect is an incredible exploration of what children’s TV can achieve in terms of content, acting, production and the cumulative magic that this endows the series with.

There’s so much to celebrate about the series – particularly in the shadow of all those cast changes – but most importantly, it’s the size of the smile it puts on your face. And it’s a worthy reminder as to why children’s TV remains in our hearts and minds all these years on.

***This article is an excerpt from my book The Curiosities of British Children's TV which is now available on Amazon

Let's Pretend

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Adults need all manner of material distractions to briefly escape from reality, but young children don’t have access to credit cards and, as a result, have to find joy in other places. Thankfully, children are blessed with the most wondrous creativity. And it doesn’t cost a penny.

With a fertile imagination at their disposal, children can begin to explore the world around them all from the comfort of their bedroom. And with a few household props they can create practically any environment they like; if they’ve got a dressing up box and like to sing then it’s even better!

Now, someone once said that “Talent borrows. Genius steals”, so it’s reasonable that children – little geniuses that they are – need a little bit of inspiration to cultivate their imaginative endeavours and, acting as the perfect creative springboard, they can find this in Let’s Pretend.

Genre: Children's
Channel: ITV (Central)
Transmission: 1982 - 89

Let’s Pretend starts in a playroom, a wonderful playroom full of toys and instruments. And housed within this bastion of childhood delights are three ‘pretenders’ sat at a table. Talk soon turns to an object such as bubble mixture or a tablecloth and helps to kick-start the episode’s theme. After a bit of creative re-imagining of these objects – e.g. using a broom as a crutch – the pretenders decide that they’re going to put on a play, but first they gather round a piano and bash out a song to really cement the episode’s theme.


Two of the pretenders then take a short stroll across the playroom – the ‘musician’ pretender remains at the piano –  and into the performance space, a sparse area populated only by soft, colourful lighting and a few props, but don’t worry as a bewitching tale is on its way. The plays take on plots which look at thirsty magicians conjuring up giant bubbles to secure some orange juice, doctors encountering incredibly accident prone patients and we’re even treated to two posh twits stranded on a desert island in need of a paddle.

And, with the exception of the few props on offer, these plays rely on the pretenders’ ability to pretend and improvise with each other and their surroundings. The plays are completed by revisiting the original song from the playroom and brief highlights from the play for the viewers to focus on.

Behind the Pretence

Let’s Pretend was part of the lunchtime schedule on ITV between 1982 – 89 with 207 episodes being produced by Central Television over an eight series run. Unfortunately, the entire first series is officially missing, but at least one episode – ‘The Garden Bench’ – is believed to be held in an arts archive. Legendary children’s show Pipkins had previously occupied the Let’s Pretend slot, but due to a change in ITV’s landscape, something new was required as writer Gail Renard recalls:

“Sadly Pipkins ended when ATV lost its franchise – which we never thought for a moment would happen. Central TV was the new ITV franchise holder and wanted to own its own pre-school series and start afresh. Pipkins' producer, Michael Jeans, asked Pipkins' writers Susan Pleat, Denis Bond and me to write the new series, Let's Pretend”

The team’s aim was for Let’s Pretend to stimulate the fertile imagination of the young, lunchtime audience as Renard explains:

“Children love pretending and it's important that they're encouraged to use their imaginations. They can find fun and fantasy in everyday objects they see around them. A canister Hoover with a long hose can look like an elephant if you stick ears on it.  Kids also love stories and music so we wove them all into Let's Pretend. There were also educational elements too”

The initial concept of Let’s Pretend may have originated in amongst the neurons and synapses of Michael Jeans’ mind, but Renard remembers the entire creative team getting involved with the development of the show:

“Michael Jeans created the main format but Susan, Denis and I were always very involved with the production. We'd have storylining days together when we'd put together all of our ideas, develop them and see which ones we wanted to turn into episodes. It was fun and there were no egos. We were always generous with each other. If someone really wanted to do a particular storyline, we were happy to say it's yours.

We also attended the studio recordings. Writers really need to, especially on a long running series. You need to see the actors' strengths so that you can play to them in future, as well as what might not be working so well. You also suddenly get new ideas when immersed in it all”



One notable element of Let’s Pretend was that – despite some regular pretenders such as John Telfer, Kerry Shale and Martin Smith – there was no definitive lineup in place as Michael Jeans was reticent to rely on any one performer. As a result, dozens of actors passed through the doors of Let’s Pretend and Philip Bird, who appeared in several episodes, remembers his time on the show fondly:

“I had presented some episodes of Merry-go-Round, a BBC programme for children, and had worked for ATV (which became Central) on Sapphire & Steel and the final Callan. Maybe one of those helped get me seen. Derek Barnes was the casting director on Let’s Pretend. I guess he called my agent and invited me to meet Michael Jeans. I was asked to write a song and come in and play it on the piano. The brief for the song may well have been for it to be about an elephant who can or can’t dance. 


Anyway, I brought a pair of wellington boots and played the song on the piano, with occasional clumpy pirouettes in the gaps in the music. I don’t remember any song of mine being rejected by him, and the rest of the cast were always encouraging and supportive. We worked as a team, throwing in ideas whenever they occurred to us. Time was fairly tight so the work was concentrated. John Telfer is a great, talented man. Andrea Gibb is now also a writer. Hardly surprising, given her inventiveness”


Sarah Lermit – who appeared in two episodes following her graduation from drama school – also remembers her involvement with Let’s Pretend as being a creative and challenging experience:

“The initial brief required me to be able to sing and dance and play various parts within the episode; I had to come up with some creative ideas with the other actor and the musician and improvise so that we could then establish a story and firm up a script. As I said, it was a creative process, so there was a lot of work and pressure in the rehearsal studios to come up with a good story and to tell it in an amusing and entertaining way.


On set, when filming, you ran from beginning to end with no cuts if I remember right and it was quite complicated to do. All the costume changes for the different characters you were playing – and getting the props in the right place at the right time – were all done in real time, so it was pretty full on and nerve wracking for a novice actor!”


John Telfer, one of the longest serving pretenders, recalls an equally enjoyable introduction to the series:

“I was in very first series and I was sent up by my agent for this television interview with Michael Jeans – a lovely man, completely off the wall, like a bumbling professor – and Chris Hazell the musical director who occasionally appeared as the musical presenter. And it was a really nice interview, I remember that Michael said “Draw me a silly pink elephant” so I did a quick scribble. The next day, though, I had a think about it and decided I could draw a better picture, so I sketched a dancing elephant and sent it to Michael. And I got the job”


The actors involved in the series were also given the opportunity to help shape the stories into their finished form as Telfer explains:

“Michael set a very open process of rehearsals. Some of the scripts were very tight, but some were of variable quality, so we’d throw them around a bit more to get the best out of them. We had three lots of rehearsals (in Camden) before recording at the end of the week (originally at Elstree and later Birmingham). You had to decide on the characters very quickly and this wasn’t always easy as, for example, one episode I was playing a fried egg and a boiled egg – Bobby the Boiled Egg and Frankie the Fried Egg. Frankie turned out to be a real slippery, sexy character!”

Despite the show’s long lifespan, the format changed very little with only the opening credits changing. Originally, a conveyor belt would transport the episode’s props (a la The Generation Game) towards the crunching jaws of a shark-like creature. After the first series, Michael Jeans decided this was a bit too ferocious for pre-schoolers, so the Let’s Pretend caterpillar was introduced. Early series had this puppet caterpillar dancing across the screen before being revealed to be operated by one of the pretenders. Later series would have a more generic opening where the caterpillar, in a succession of costumes, would wriggle around an illustration of the Let’s Pretend house

Relying on Creativity

Ah, Let’s Pretend! Now there’s a children’s TV show which had a significant impact on my way of viewing the world when I was knee high to a grasshopper, well, I was probably just under one metre, but let’s not get too pedantic, okay? Yes, so, Let’s Pretend, what was its effect upon my tiny brain? Well, inspired by the antics of the pretenders, I decided, one afternoon, to play Let’s Pretend. And, strapping on my older brother’s rucksack, I pretended the stairs in my hallway were a mountain and set about scaling them.

There’s no way I would have even contemplated such an exploration of my imagination without Let’s Pretend. With its influence ingrained upon my temporal lobe, it’s no surprise that this vivid memory of the show has refused to vacate the older recesses of my memory. My initial introduction to Let’s Pretend was 30 years ago and due to a lack of repeats I hadn’t seen the show for nearly as long. Could Let’s Pretend still pack a punch and inspire my sense of wonder all these years on?

Despite the long lifespan of Let’s Pretend– and falling comfortably within the era of home recordings – very little footage is freely available, so all I could find were a few clips which failed to tell me the whole story. Eventually, I managed to secure a private viewing from a kind friend and I then found that the BFI held two episodes, so I set off to digest the lot.


And, as those gentle, dreamy piano tones kicked in, I was transported on a crescendo of melody back to an era where all I had to worry about was where I would set up my base camp on the stairs. Matters had got off to a good start, but what would lie within Let’s Pretend?

Now, the first thing to address is the Let’s Pretend caterpillar puppet that appears in the opening titles as it’s one of the strongest memories for many viewers. And, it’s fair to say, their memories of this little red and yellow larva are enshrined in nightmare inducing territory. However, I’m not entirely sure why as he comes across as a curious and playful fellow who’s keen to embrace the pretending ethos of the show by dressing up. Okay, I guess the strange, synth based noises he makes are a little disturbing, but it’s nothing to hide behind the sofa about.


With this ‘horror’ quashed, it’s time to move onto the core concept of Let’s Pretend. And, like all the very best children’s TV, it’s a concept which grasps simplicity close to its heart. There’s no need to complicate matters with various frills and distractions, instead, the power of creativity is entwined into the show’s heartbeat.

What’s clever – and most important for Let’s Pretend– is the show’s ability to show young viewers that you don’t need elaborate sets and props to perform and tell stories. Sure, it would be lovely to provide every child with a huge wardrobe and an on hand set designer, but that’s not feasible.
Dispensing with the need for a budget, when the pretenders transform the blank canvas of their performance space into any location that their play demands, it demonstrates to the young viewers the huge potential of their imagination and what it can achieve.


The plays themselves have plenty to impart to the young viewers and consist of life lessons, humour, singing and silliness, so it’s the perfect formula for engaging children. It never falls into the trap of coming across too overbearing and the plays are all helped, of course, by the fantastic pretenders.

The enthusiasm with which the pretenders perform is matched only by their acting talents, so this helps bring the plays to life and gives them an exuberant feel. There’s a fabulous section in a series two episode where John Telfer, Steven Mann and Martin Smith all sing ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat’ in a round style and it’s so infused with actorial charm it’s difficult not to admire their brio.
And it’s no surprise to hear that Telfer has nothing but fond memories about the recording of the series:

“We all loved Michael, he had a wonderful grandfatherly presence and was endlessly good humoured which made for a wonderful working atmosphere. You had your favourite people you worked with, I had lovely Tessa Hatts and Aidan Hamilton. In fact there was one clip of myself and Tessa playing an octopus, Tessa sang testicles instead of tentacles and we fell about in hysterics. It ended up on one of those TV Blunders shows, it’s been shown three times, so we’ve been paid for it three more times!”

The final aspect of Let’s Pretend which makes it a special show is the huge number of pretenders involved in the series. By constantly serving up so many new faces, Let’s Pretend is able to remain fresh and not rely on any one performer being the life-force of the series. It’s a move which affords Let’s Pretend yet more originality and when you consider the quality surrounding it, you’d be hard pressed to find any reason to begrudge the show its eight series span.

Pretender to the Throne?

Let’s Pretend is a marvellous dose of lunchtime children’s TV which manages to cram a level of quality into the production which appears to defy the laws of physics. This is no surprise as the whole point of your creativity is that it can stick two fingers up to the petty restrictions of physics.

Imagination is crucial to Let’s Pretend’s success as it provides a firm footing for the young viewers to get involved. It’s delivered with an admirable ease, has a marvellous set of performers and a highly experienced creative team to thank for achieving this.

And whilst my ‘mountain climbing’ experience didn’t lead to me becoming an actor (or a mountain climber), it was one of the many influences which showed me how something could be created from nothing, hence this blog. It’s an amazing feat to transcend the TV schedules and become inspirational, but one that ensures Let’s Pretend will never be forgotten.

***This article is an excerpt from my book The Curiosities of British Children's TV which is now available on Amazon

Unnatural Causes: Hidden Talents

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Every now and then, an actor or actress strides onto a television show and, backed by quite magnificent writing, manages to not only define the series, but often a genre. And this is never more evident than with Pat Phoenix who played - as we all know - Elsie Tanner way back in the very first episode of Coronation Street. 

The original soap siren, Elsie Tanner was fiery, passionateand it was the combination of these two traits which led to achilles heel: a series of doomed relationships with the many men to tread the cobbles of Coronation Street. Away from her romantic dalliances, though, Tanner was a warm hearted and maternal soul which was demonstrated most acutely in the late 1970s as she took Suzie Birchall and Gail Potter (later Platt) under her wing.

Making her final appearance in Coronation Street in 1984, Pat Phoenix left behind a brashy, honest, incredibly Northern and soulful legacy which has yet to be matched in British soaps and, given the dire state of that genre in the modern age, it's unlikely we'll ever see such a performance again. Sadly, just less than three years later, Pat Phoenix had died following a battle with lung cancer.

Several weeks after her untimely death - Phoenix was only 62 - the final chapter in her acting career aired in the form of Hidden Talents, an episode from the anthology series Unnatural Causes which, ironically, had death at the very centre of it's narrative.

Genre: Drama
Channel: ITV (Central)
Transmission: 15/11/1986

Nellie (Pat Phoenix) is weak and bedridden in her aging, decrepit house due to a bad heart. Living out of her front room, Nellie is looked after by her son Harold (Tom Bell) who is going deaf and prone to eccentric and emotional outbursts following a motorbike accident some years previous. Relations are tense and fractious between Nellie and Harold, a state of affairs which isn't helped by Nellie's affectionate recollections of her estranged son Stanley (Tom Georgeson) who left many years before, taking with him Nellie's savings.


Meanwhile, Mrs Hargreaves (Victoria Fairbrother) has moved in across the road, but far from being a new neighbour, this is a return to the area for a grieving mother whose daughter Madeleine (Anna Manley) was found dead in the local woods 17 years ago. Harold, a talented pianist, had given Madeleine piano lessons before her death and now appears to be haunted, yet strangely obsessed with Mrs Hargreaves reappearance.


Determined to emerge from the shadow of Nellie's constant dismissal as him as a mere nuisance in comparison to her beloved Stanley, Harold hatches a devious and unhinged plan which, crucially, will provide him with a twistedsense of redemption and justice.

Behind the Production

Hidden Talents was part of the Unnatural Causes produced by Central Television and aired on ITV in late 1986. It was an anthology series which explored death and murder with writers and stars involved in the episodes including Nigel Kneale, Beryl Bainbridge, Prunella Scales and Warren Clarke.

Lynda La Plante penned Hidden Talents and her husband Richard La Plante provided the music alongside James Simpson. Don Leaver who had previously directed The Avengers and would later collaborate with Lynda La Plante on Prime Suspect was positioned as the director on Hidden Talents. 

Hidden Talents only aired once on terrestrial TV, but episodes from the Unnatural Causes anthology were later repeated on the cable channel Carlton Select.


Uncovering the Unnatural

I was delving through a dusty set of VHS tapes when I stumbled across a Granada TV announcer declaring that the upcoming programme was the final performance by the legendary Pat Phoenix. Now, I'd never heard of Unnatural Causes, but, for some reason, I've always had a fascination with the final roles of television greats (see The Moon over Sohoand Grundy). Seeing those final recorded moments of such talents is bittersweet, but fascinating as it provides one last chance to watch those recognisable stars flexing their acting musclesbefore the curtain descends.


And this is why I had to watch Hidden Talents and bring it to the masses (well, however many people read this blog).


A powerful and emotion packed exploration of the disturbed psyches that humanity can find inflicted upon itself, Hidden Talents is quite, quite remarkable in its scope and storytelling. Exploring a myriad of themes, the main characters are all put through the emotional wringer as the narrative unfolds and uncomfortable truths bubble to the surface like a particularly unclean pan put back on the boil.


Nellie is a woman whose entire life is packed full of regret. Drinking from a crystal glass given to her by her mother in law, Nellie recalls how she had a promising future in acting, but this dream was dashed when she became pregnant. Her world view soured by this, Nellie's life appears riddled with bitterness. And yet her son Stanley appears to be the one shining light she is still desperately holding onto, all this despite his sudden disappearance and theft of her savings. It's a disturbing obsession, one which finds Nellie celebrating Stanley's well endowed form and even saying she would have been tempted had he not been her son.


Harold, of course, has clearly been subjected to a life of misfortune which has led to mental health problems, but these have been exaggerated and accelerated by Nellie's maternal disinterest. With Nellie taping his mouth shut when the police came to call to discuss Madeleine's disappearance and death, it's no surprise that Harold teeters precariously on the edge of sanity even without his motorbike accident.


Stanley, built up as a magnificent, charming individual by Nellie, is, in fact, following his reappearance, a guarded individual. Sure, there's a handsome, suave charm about him (in sharp contrast to Harold's shabby form), but it feels as though the engaging personality that he once possessed has been snuffed out long ago. Something is clearly troubling him upon his return and there's a nagging sense that perhaps he should have stayed away, removed from the past and whatever problems are entrenched in it.

The final character involved in Hidden Talents is Mrs Hargreaves who we only ever glimpse as a grey haired, mournful, almost ghostlike apparition haunting the streets and, more importantly, the mindsets of Harold and Stanley. She provides an unsettling, distressing backbone to Hidden Talents that really ratchets up the emotional impact of the narrative.


And all of these characters are played with absolute aplomb by the actors involved. Phoenix, despite her ill health, delivers a tour de force performance which draws from her tremendous wealth of talent. It's difficult to imagine a finer way for an actress to sign off and should surely be held up as a masterclass in range. Tom Bell is just as amazing in his role as Harold which calls for a level of mental imbalance that is disturbingly realistic and takes in an astonishing ability to flit between differing emotions with complete ease.


Tom Georgeson has a difficult role to play, having to combine a sense of deception with an eventual realisation that he's clearly at the mercy of Harold's plan for revenge as well as ultimately breaking, quite literally, Nellie's heart. There's a brooding, cagey nature running through Stanley's veins as he arrives within the play, but Georgeson slowly dismantles this into a dramatic, emotional meltdown as Hidden Talents concludes. Victoria Fairbrother may be used sparingly, but the chilling impact that her haunted hollow eyes brings to Hidden Talents is compelling, so, when she finds a brief moment of joy at the play's conclusion, it's devastatingly effective.


Lynda La Plante's script, of course, fuels all of the actors' brilliance and it's a script which is ingeniously plotted and constructed to hold all of its themes of regret, loyalty and family up to the light with a disturbingly grim clarity. Slowly letting the script breathe with long pauses between snatches of dialogue, La Plante teases out the individual plot strands without ever letting too much away until the dramatic reveals. It's a relatively early script from La Plante, but hints at the indelible impact she would make on British television.


Bringing the script to life is Don Leaver's marvellous direction which, although it may appear simple, actually reflects the uncomfortable, almost nightmarish feel of La Plante's script. The set is dark and dilapidated which perfectly encapsulates the fortunes and mindsets of the central characters. Nellie's house feels as though, much like her, it's on its last legs and any sense of hope departed its aging walls long ago. This feeling of uneasiness is given further strength by Richard La Plante's recurring piano theme which echoes throughout the episode to underline the sense of regret on offer.

Hidden Talent?

A fantastic slice of dark and disturbing television which explores familial themes that many people would rather brush to the side, Hidden Talents is a testament to the talent involved with the play. Pat Phoenix couldn't have asked for a finer send off and, as it aired, it must have reminded the world of what an inimitable talent it had just lost.

Wyatt’s Watchdogs

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Society simply wouldn't operate without a little bit of community spirit running through our veins. It's this sense of commitment to our fellow man which ensures we have peace of mind, security and, most importantly, a feeling of togetherness. Sure, there are always hermits and loners in amongst this throng of connected individuals, but at least community provides them with something to rebel against, so everyone's a winner.

And it was in 1982 - for the UK - that an upgrade to community spirit was delivered with the establishment of neighbourhood watch schemes. Based on similar practices well established in the USA, these schemes looked to foster a communal spirit by inspiring people to come together to keep a watchful eye on their communities and make them a safer place to live.

The scheme has been a tremendous success and it's now estimated that 3.8 million households fall under the jurisdiction of a neighbourhood watch, so this is a level of security which can't be ignored. However, with no specific rules or central, governing bodies in place, a neighbourhood watch can soon become somewhat of a wild beast and start to cause more trouble than it solves as evidenced in Wyatt's Watchdogs.

Genre: Comedy
Channel: BBC1
Transmission: 17/10/1988 - 21/11/1988



Major John Wyatt (Brian Wilde) is a retired army officer living in the quintessentiallyEnglish village of Bradly Bush. However, even this quiet, leafy village has the capacity to be struck down the rigours of crime and this is suddenly brought home to Wyatt when his sister Edwina (Anne Ridler) has her house burgled. Determined to create a safer environment for his fellow villagers to live in, Wyatt - with the approval and careful eye of the local police - forms a neighbourhood watch scheme for Bradly Bush.


Wyatt, of course, is somewhat of a pompous twit, though, so his resolute bloody-mindedness seriously hamstrings the activities of his watch. He's not on his own, though, so joining him in the Dogmobile (Wyatt's Range Rover) is the suave security alarm salesman Peter Pitt (Trevor Bannister) and proper English village lady Virginia (April Walker) who swoons whenever confronted by a set of previously unconquered X and Y chromosomes.


Keeping a careful eye on Wyatt's questionable and calamitous activities is the local police sergeant Springer (James Warrior) who seems determined to discourage Wyatt from going one step too far and, of course, ridiculing his various downfalls. And what type of village would this be without a religious figurehead? Step forward the Vicar (David Jackson) who's keen to interfere and save a few quid by getting new age travellers to repair his leaky plumbing.


Together, this assortment of fantastically British characters take on plots which see them hot on the trail of a terrorsome gnome thief, filming a crime prevention video and even getting providing an anti-theft identity engraving service. And, as decreed by Eric Sykes in the 1947 Sitcom Regulations Act, all of these endeavours end up going down the swanny for the audience's viewing pleasure.

Watching the Production

Wyatt's Watchdogsaired during autumn 1988 on BBC1 at 8pm on Monday evenings and ran for one series of six episodes. Despite the somewhat cosy trappings of an English village, a comedy vicar and all manner of whimsy, you may be surprised to learn that Wyatt's Watchdogs was written by Miles Tredinnick who was the lead singer of classic 70s punk band London (where he performed under the name Riff Regan).

Looking back at his initial ideas for the series, Tredinnick remembers focusing on the glory days of classic British comedy:

"I was trying to create a contemporary Dad's Army type show where a whole load of people are thrown together in an unlikely group to combat local crime. Neighbourhood Watches were very current at the time and I thought that if you put some pompous twit in charge it might have some comedic legs and be funny. I was also trying to create a gentle comedy rather in the fashion of the old Ealing comedies. I wanted oddball characters like they had in Passport to Pimlico or Whisky Galore!"

With a firm concept in mind, Tredinnick's next step was to secure a commission and, although he did, it was after an unusual series of events:

"I badgered my agent Tessa Le Bars to send the BBC comedy department a stage play that I had written called Laugh? I Nearly Went To Miami! which had just been published by Samuel French Ltd as I thought it might show the BBC the kind of dialogue I wrote. A sort of comedy calling card if you like.

Everyone thought I was mad sending the BBC a stage play but  they must have liked it because the next thing I know I’m in a meeting with Christopher Bond at TV Centre and he said they wanted to commission me to write a pilot script on any subject I wanted. They asked me to go away and come back with three ideas and they would choose the best one. Talk about having all your Christmases come at once!

Well I went away and wrote Bovver which was about a skinhead who still lived at home with his mum – it was very much inspired by John Sullivan’s Citizen Smith  – the idea being that the skinhead couldn’t be as tough as he would like with his fellow gang members whilst his mum was always popping in with cups of tea and tidying his room! Smooth Operators which was about three switchboard girls in a legal firm who spent more time discussing their boyfriends then answering calls and my third one was Wyatt's Watchdogs.

That was the one they liked and it eventually got the green light for a pilot episode by Gareth Gwenlan, the Head of Comedy and Michael Grade who was then the Controller of BBC1. But the first I heard that they were going to make a pilot episode was one morning when I got a phone call from Alan Bell who wanted to discuss casting. He assumed that I already knew it had got the go ahead. It was one of the most exciting moments of my life. I kept repeating 'So you’re going to make my sitcom?' again and again. I just couldn’t believe it was happening. Typical BBC"

Both Brian Wilde and Trevor Bannister were well established sitcom stars, so securing the pair of them was a real coup for Wyatt's Watchdogs and led to Tredinnick having to make adjustments to accomodate both their talents and standing:

"Brian Wilde was Gareth Gwenlan’s suggestion. I had originally seen the John Wyatt role as ideal for Reginald Marsh who I admired from shows like George and Mildred, The Good Life and Terry and June. But as soon as Gareth suggested Brian I was in. I had always been a huge fan of Brian Wilde in Porridge (my favourite sitcom ever) and was delighted at the prospect of writing for him. His timing and delivery was always superb in my opinion. 

Trevor was different. We were casting the pilot episode 'One Big, One Not So Big' and Alan Bell suggested Trevor Bannister for Peter Pitt? Well, I'd always loved Trevor in Are You Being Served? so we got him in for a reading with Brian Wilde. It was immediately clear that there was some kind of chemistry going on between them. It worked very well as they had both known each other from an earlier ITV sitcom The Dustbinmen that they’d both been in. Obviously I had to build up Trevor’s part considerably as originally the show was only supposed to be a star vehicle for Brian"

Tredinnick's original vision for the series also had to be changed slightly as the series entered pre-production:

"The first script was quite different to what it eventually became. I had originally set the show in London’s East End with Wyatt looking down through his binoculars from the 17th floor of a high rise tower block trying to spot local wrong-doers. I think it was Brian Wilde who asked if it could be moved to more leafy surroundings and so I changed it to accommodate him.

In the end, the series was filmed in Claygate, Surrey although my fictional name for the village was ‘Bradly Bush’. It was very convenient for all the crew (most of whom lived in London) and especially for Trevor Bannister and Alan Bell as they lived only 20 minutes away in Thames Ditton"

And even the series title went through a number of changes thanks to the bureaucracy of television scheduling and marketing as Tredinnick remembers:

"The original title was Wyatt's Watchdogs. That was the title under which the show got commissioned but then as the filming dates approached, Alan Bell said he wasn’t too keen on the title as it sounded a bit like a children’s programme. So I suggested Every Street Should Have One and everyone seemed happy with that.

But then after the filming but before we got into the weekly studio recordings, word came through from the BBC bosses that the show was going to be aired in the autumn at 8pm on Mondays on BBC1. It was going to follow Coronation Street on ITV and be transmitted before another new BBC comedy called Streets Apart.


Well all these ‘streets’ would have looked a bit silly in the schedules so Gareth Gwenlan asked me to come up with a new title. Now, you may think picking a title is a straight forward thing but actually it’s quite difficult. After a few days I gave Gareth a list of alternatives but he didn’t like any of them so in the end and with the transmission date looming closer and closer it was decided to go back to the original title Wyatt's Watchdogs"

The series was restricted to just one airing and there neither repeats or any commercial releases, but off-air recordings (not HD quality, but watchable enough) are circulating on torrent sites or rather overpriced (considering the quality) bootleg DVDs are for sale on various online marketplaces.

Every Street Should Have One

Wyatt's Watchdogs was a sitcom which had been recommended to me by several people and, given the fact that it had only aired once nearly 30 years ago, meant that there must have been something special lurking in its inner workings to engender such long lasting affection. Personally, I can't remember watching it at the time, so I had no personal recollections of it. I had, at the time it aired, been watching Last of the Summer Wine for a few years, but I'm pretty certain I started when Brian Wilde had taken a sabbatical and was replaced by Michael Aldridge as Seymour.


So, yes, Wyatt's Watchdogs had passed me by like a day of sobriety for an alcoholic. However, much like an alcoholic frantically searching the house for that last bottle of low cost, high strength cider, I was determined to find Wyatt's Watchdogs. And, for a year or two, I drew nothing but blanks until I was lucky enough to uncover a recording of the series by some innovative soul. By now, of course, I was well aware of Brian Wilde's ability as an actor having continued watching Summer Wine and witnessing his reappearance in 1990.

What was even more intriguing about Wyatt's Watchdogs was that long term Summer Wine director Alan J.W. Bell was on board as well as Ronnie Hazlehurst who composed the theme tune and incidental music for Summer Wine. With all theses Summer Wine references and foundations, I began to wonder whether it would simply be a rehash of that series, but with a dose of crime fighting for good measure. However, Wyatt's Watchdogs proved to be a very different beast.


Sure, Brian Wilde playing a pompous ex-military type isn't far removed from the character of Foggy Dewhurst, but Major Wyatt is much more grounded in reality. You see, at least for the last two thirds of its run, Summer Wine was set in what was very much a cartoony, utopian idyll, seemingly untouched by the modern world or any of the harsh realities of life (Compo's death aside). And, for Summer Wine, this was the perfect flavour for a show whose exaggerated characters were there sought to celebrate the constituent parts of the British personality.

In Wyatt's Watchdogs, though, Brian Wilde is playing a character who has genuine, real life problems on his hands in the form of crime. Okay, he also has to worry about keeping an eye on his precious drinks cabinet, but it's refreshing to see him in a role which allows him a more dramatic narrative even if it is just hunting down a gnome thief or trying to secure victory in a 'best kept village' competition. Ticking off every aspect required to elevate his pompousness to a particularly high pedestal, Wyatt is perfectly poised to suffer fall from grace after fall from grace.


And, in sharp contrast to Wyatt, we have Peter Pitt played with complete relish by Trevor Bannister. The complete opposite of Wyatt, Pitt is diametrically opposed to Wyatt's outlook on life and, to Wyatt at least (but virtually no one else in Bradly Bush), Pitt is little more than a charlatan intent on flogging burglar alarms. In reality, Pitt is a jovial, charming soul and his free enterprise activities are merely a symptom of his personality rather than any duplicitous scheme to make a few sales.


Wyatt and Pitt make for a fine double act and are one of the series redeeming and best executed features, being as it is, a pre-requisite (as laid down by Eric Sykes in 1947) that conflict is the epicentre from which all belly laughs emanate. And Tredinnick reveals that he revelled in writing these scenes:

"I always think that one of the best bits about the show is the constant bickering between Brian and Trevor. I love that kind of writing – two people trying to outdo each other and neither willing to back down - and found those scenes exciting to write"

Although the main thrust of the narrative concentrates on Wyatt and Pitt's activities, the supporting characters around them all provide little flurries of excitement. Springer provides Wyatt with another battleground, but this time Wyatt's adversary comes with some real authority behind him, as well as a desire to see Wyatt land flat on his face. And perhaps my favourite character is the prone-to-a-gamble Vicar with David Jackson delivering a sparkling performance as the engaging holy man.


And it was the fantastic cast in place which really made Wyatt's Watchdogs for Tredinnick:

"The regulars April Walker, Anne Ridler, David Jackson, and James Warrior were all very funny and a joy to work with. As were the supporting actors. Eva Stuart, Brian Wilde’s wife, appeared in one episode as a snooty antique shop owner, (I think it’s the only film of the two of them acting together). Clive Mantle played a hilarious stoned hippy traveller called Baza; Martin Benson (who I had only known from films like Goldfinger and one of the Pink Panther movies) played a Judge and Timothy Carlton (Benedict Cumberbatch’s father) had a role as the antiques expert Toby Todd"


Tredinnick's scripts for this fine cast are particularly pleasing with plenty of action to provide the narrative with a sense of pace which never leaves you staring out the window and pondering life. And there are plenty of gags peppered throughout as well as the comedy arising from Wyatt's misplaced sense of purpose and importance. It's all very innocent and certainly indebted - as Tredinnick intended - to shows such as Dad's Army and similar family favourites.

The tightness of the scripts is also complemented by Alan Bell's direction, but, given his experience, this shouldn't really come as any surprise and Tredinnick was highly appreciative of the magic Bell brought to the production:

"We got on brilliantly from day one. Alan is an incredible film director (just look at some of the LAS episodes, beautifully photographed and with great composition) but he also instinctively knows what’s funny. He has a great sense of humour and always created a very happy atmosphere on set.

For me, a complete novice in television, he was patient and very helpful. He allowed me to sit in on everything – the casting, the rehearsals, the filming, the music recording with Ronnie Hazlehurst, the editing, the lot! I learned so much from him in every aspect of how to put a TV show together. I am very grateful to him"


Wyatt's Watchdogs is certainly packed full of charm and merit, but unfortunately that all important second series didn't manifest itself with a commission as Tredinnick recollects:

"A second series was pencilled in and I had already started writing the first episode which involved Wyatt and his neighbourhood watch team taking to the river in a rubber dinghy trying to catch waterborne crooks! I remember having a meeting with Trevor Bannister and coming up with all kinds of possible shenanigans/bungles for a new series.

We discussed some great ideas. It was quite surreal in a way because in real life Trevor was in charge of his own neighbourhood watch in Thames Ditton. Talk about art imitating life!

Unfortunately when the show aired it was up against the popular Benny Hill Show on ITV and just couldn’t win the ratings war. Despite the fact that 8 million viewers tuned in if you didn’t attract 10 million plus back then your show would be cancelled. We were all very upset. It had been a happy series to work on"


Worth a Watch?

Taking its lead from the spirit of neighbourhood watches, there's a pleasing level of community at the forefront of Wyatt's Watchdogs from both the cast's performance and the level of expertise behind the camera. It may feel, at times, quaint and old fashioned, but perhaps it aired in an era where times were simpler and the TV audience wasn't fractured into so many specific niches.

Tredinnick certainly notices a marked difference in today's sitcom landscape compared to that of yesteryear:

"There aren’t many sitcoms made in the traditional way anymore are there? These days they seem to be more light-hearted dramas whilst the best sitcoms had a funny line almost every third line. The show I wrote an episode for after Wyatt's Watchdogs was Marks and Gran’s Birds of a Feather and there they practically insisted on so many laugh-out-loud lines per episode. 

The old sitcoms were designed to make you laugh. The best ones were written by skilled comedy writers and performed by actors who just knew how to deliver lines. Take Trevor Bannister’s previous show Are You Being Served? Whether you liked it or not everyone in it knew how to say their lines with impeccable timing probably learnt from years in the theatre and being in farces etc"

Wyatt's Watchdogs is a fine example of a traditional sitcom and one which refuses to vacate the affections of those who watched it almost three decades ago. For Tredinnick it's a series packed full of memories which he believes are worthy of a reappraisal:

"Wyatt's Watchdogs wasn’t as successful as the BBC had hoped but it was two years of my life that I look back on with immense pleasure. I know a lot of people enjoyed watching it and even today people ask me if there is ever going to be a DVD release? Maybe one day that might happen. Who knows? With sitcom heavyweights Brian Wilde and Trevor Bannister bickering and snapping at each other like only they could, it would probably sell quite well"

And you know what? I couldn't agree more, so come on, BBC, lets get a broadcast quality copy out on DVD. With commentaries and blooper reels. And even a Wyatt's Watchdog 'Neighbourhood Watch' sticker to display in your window to deter would be criminals.

9 Pukka Slices of Rare Only Fools and Horses Footage

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Only Fools and Horses was awarded the title of Britain's Best Loved Sitcom in 2015 and it was also voted Britain's Favourite Sitcom in 2004; it's no surprise, really, as it's packed full of likeable characters and plenty of gags which satisfy almost every demographic. It makes you wonder why there aren't more sitcoms which can engender the feeling of love that OFAH does, but I guess love and genius are rare commodities.

This passion for Del Boy, Rodney et al means that every household in the land either has the complete OFAH boxset or has access to GOLD (essentially the OFAH boxset disguised as a digital channel). As a result, people all over the country can recite huge chunks of dialogue and argue almost non-stop about which is the greatest episode. However, not everyone is aware of the unusual, mostly unseen and long forgotten snippets of OFAH which are lurking online with a whole 'new' set of laughs.

And this is why I've decided to gather together 9 pukka slices of rare Only Fools and Horses footage in one place. Some of them may appear to have been swept up by Trigger round the back of the Nag's Head, so the quality is variable, but as Del Boy would say "C'est la vie, mange tout!"

1. Del Boy and Boycie Rover Car Advert


This rarely seen advert is essentially a quickie reveal gag, but it also features classic Del Boy patter such as "This is quality with a capital K", a Boycie guffaw of the finest vintage and there's still time to pack in a quick laugh at Del Boy's beloved Reliant Regal.

2. Abbey National Adverts



Although the character played by David Jason in these adverts is never referred to as Del Boy, you only have to take one look at his attire (particularly the awful sportswear in the hotel advert) to know that this is Del Boy and that's before he's opened his north and south with one liners like "The Light Brigade made less ridiculous charges!"

3. Christmas 1988 Only Fools and Horses Promo


This specially filmed promo finds Del Boy and Rodney reading the Christmas edition of the Radio Times and discussing a show featuring a "plonker" and a character with good "business sense" before Uncle Albert's bearded face emerges from the three wheeler and the rug is yanked from underneath out feet with a classic misdirection gag.

4. Christmas Trees


This 1982 mini episode featuring Del Boy, Rodney, Grandad and Sid aired as part of The Funny Side of Christmas which was presented by Frank Muir. Written by John Sullivan himself, Christmas Trees is quintessential OFAH and, as such, has an underhand Del Boy scheme at it's very heart and perhaps one of the best ever Del Boy lines of "Ethics? They make model aeroplanes, don't they?"

5. White Mice


Christmas Eve, 1985 found Del Boy appearing in a quick sketch on BBC1's Breakfast Time. Having sold a batch of white mice which would - according to Del Boy - turn into horses, Del is now being investigated by a BBC consumer expert who isn't buying into Del's excuse that the mice haven't transformed yet as they're still set to Korean time.

6. 1983 Harty Christmas Special


The early 1980s found Russell Harty hosting his own show called, not surprisingly, Harty and the 21st December 1983 Christmas special was transmitted from the former Railway Orphanage in Woking. In amongst the guests were Del Boy, Rodney and Grandad who, at Del's command, were planning to gatecrash Russell Harty's Christmas party to get a free Christmas dinner. Rather disturbingly, Del refers to Rodney as Jimmy Savile's lovechild in one gag...

7. The Robin Flies at Dawn


This five minute sketch was specially filmed as a message of goodwill to the British troops serving in the Gulf War. Featuring Del Boy's three wheeler van decked out with a machine gun (perfect for a rough night in Peckham or Baghdad)as Del, Rodney and Uncle Albert failed to protect the location of their top secret filming location. Oh and Rodney promises to look after the troops' wives and girlfriends - whatever would Cassandra say?

8. 1985 Radio Times Promo


A BBC promo for the Christmas edition of the Radio Times, this clip finds Del, Rodney and Uncle "Santa" Albert sat in the flat and taking a look at the BBC's Christmas schedule. Name checking Roland Rat, Tenko and Stanley Baxter, it's a real dose of nostalgia and there are plenty of gags crammed in. A true stocking filler.

9. Licensed to Drill


Written by John Sullivan, this educational episode - produced by the Maureen Oilfield Consortium in 1984 - of OFAH never aired commercially and was only shown in schools and colleges. With a strong emphasis on the oil industry, this 20 minute episode (without a laughter track) finds Del Boy being conned into buying an 'oil rig' for £400 off a mysterious character called Paddy. This episode proved to be the final appearance of Grandad as Lennard Pearce died shortly afterwards.

So, how many of these can you remember? Oh, and if anyone has a complete copy of the OFAH sketch from the 1986 Royal Variety Performance then let me know and I'll stick it up here too!

21 Perfect Examples of 90s Fashion from Game On

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One of my favourite ever sitcoms is Game On and this is partly due to the fantastic characters - I still maintain that Matt Malone is one of the best ever sitcom characters - and the multitude of guilty laughs in the form of knob jokes and gingerism. Oh, and it's also INSANELY 90s, so it's a fantastic reminder of that curious decade.

In particular, the fashion always stands out as an astonishing time capsule of what people were wearing back then. And, man alive, was some of it awful. Not everything was terrible, though, so I've decided to have a look at it all and examine the good, the bad and the ugly of 90s fashion which featured over three series of Game On.

1. Shades T-Shirt


Matt Malone (Ben Chaplin here) was convinced that he was the epitome of cool, but this t-shirt is just... beyond words?

2. Multicoloured Rugby Shirt


Martin Henson (Matthew Cottle), as you'll see, had a bit of passion for rugby shirts and this one is particularly 90s with it's quadruple pastel colour scheme nicely satisfying the decades love of all things gaudy.

3. Cropped Blouse and Sparkly Skirt


Mandy Wilkins (Samantha Womack nee Janus) regularly set pulsesracing in Game On and when she was donning skimpy outfits such as this it's no surprise to see why. Maybe the perfect thing to dance along to Whigfield's Saturday Night in regardless of your gender...

4. Black T-Shirt and White Jeans


The two-tone look is difficult to pull off, but plenty of men in the 90s tried. And failed. Absolutely failed. Although Matt's attempt here is slightly muted by his stars and stripes bedspread.

5. Red and White Polka Dot Dress


Another winner from Mandy and a fine dress that could still easily fit into any Wetherspoons on a Saturday night.

6. Cream Suit and Black T-Shirt


Cream suits could only have existed in the 90s and, you know what, I think Ben Chaplin actually pulls it off due to his handsome looks. Well, he pulls it off better than the 1996 Liverpool FA Cup team...

7. Mauve and Purple Rugby Shirt


Another classically awful rugby shirt ensures that Martin underlines why Cotton Traders was no place to shop in the 90s or any decade - are they still even going?

8. Baggy Denim Shirt and Parker Tie


Men didn't wear particularly well fitting clothes in the 90s and Martin's baggy denim shirt is irrefutable evidence of this phenomena. And when it's paired to a tie featuring Parker from Thunderbirds it takes on a whole new dimension of 90s curiosity.

9. Cropped Blue Jumper and Lime Fleece


Women tended to wear better fitting garments in the 90s and Mandy's delightful cropped blue jumper shows exactly where the men were going wrong. Even more disastrous is the hideous lime fleece that her Italian tutor is wearing here.

10.White Suit Jacket


Oozing power and sophistication, Mandy's white suit jacket is classic office chic from the 90s.

11. Blue / Grey Rugby Shirt and Black Lacy Blouse


Two complete extremes of 90s fashion here as Martin rocks another dull rugby shirt, but Mandy wears a particularly sultry and lacy black blouse.

12. Blue shirt and Stonewash Jeans


Stonewash jeans can be difficult to wear with style, but Martin fails miserably here by making that classic 90s mistake of matching like colours for an awful, somewhat embarrassing combination.

13. Multicoloured T-Shirt and White Jeans


Perhaps the high point of garish 90s fashion, this multicoloured t-shirt worn by Matt (Neil Stuke) is bad enough, but the white jeans really set it off into a direction that no one ever wants to revisit.

14. Cream Suit Jacket


Mandy was another character who could pull off cream suits and this suit jacket made a fine addition to her office wardrobe.

15. Blue T-Shirt and Green Jeans


Matt's blue Adidas top is actually pretty cool, but when it's accompanies by bright green jeans then it's nothing short of a fashion disaster.

16. Undefinable Shirt


I have no idea what this shirt is supposed to be. African?

17. White Lacy Top


Whilst Mandy certainly pulls this white, lacy top off - complete with metallic belt - it doesn't half remind me of the sort of doily my Nan used to love decorating sofas with.

18. Red T-Shirt and Pale Blue Camouflage Trousers


Again, Matt is wearing a perfectly acceptable Adidas t-shirt, but then he pairs with some godawful camouflage trousers which take in myriad shades of blue to truly make you wince.

19. Retro Tracktop and White Jeans


The retro tracktop is pretty cool and wouldn't seem out of place on a Britpop band, but the white jeans (making yet another appearance) ensure that this is less Oasis 1994 and more Menswear 1997.

20. Full Length Leather Jacket


Leather jackets are always cool, but full length ones are difficult to pull off unless you want to be viewed as a Goth or drug dealer. However, thanks to the fantastic contrast between the dark leather and Mandy's blonde locks, it never looks better than here.

21. Brown Furry T-Shirt


It's perfectly fine for animals to be brown and furry, but for shirts? NO!

So, how many of these did you wear back in the 90s? And how many of them would you wear now?


New Book is Here!

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The latest edition in my series of guides on the more curious gems and oddities of British children's TV is now available on Amazon for the bargain price of 99p - that's cheaper than anything you'll find in Poundland, yet offers infinitely more value than a refurbished Chris De Burgh CD.

Now, why exactly have I started writing these books? Obviously, this website acts as a fairly useful mouthpiece for me to communicate my love of retro British television, but I wanted to do something a little different to run alongside it. What could I do though? Hmmm, well, what really inspired my love of British TV history?

And you know what it was? Petty crime.


Yes, that's right, I'm a criminal in the eyes of the law, because back in 1997 I borrowed the quite amazing 'Guinness Book of Classic British TV' from the local mobile library and NEVER returned it. Remember, this was back in an age when the internet was a strange digital beast that you were lucky to catch a glimpse of. Therefore, this book and it's incredible depth of knowledge was a rare gateway into a world of TV nostalgia. And I think this why the local council never even sent me as much as an overdue notice, they had the foresight to see where it was leading.

So, at the start of 2016, I decided to start releasing mini guides in homage to this wonderful book by Paul Cornell, Martin Day and Keith Topping, my front covers even owe a heavy debt to the colour scheme of the Guinness book. Obviously, I had a wealth of material on my blog, but some of the earlier blogs I wrote were a little on the hoof and lacked detail. So, although it meant starting from scratch again, I decided to rewrite them with a little more clarity and probing insight.

Now, these e-books are rather short in length and, accordingly, the writing doesn't take that long. However, the research takes a LOT of time. Obviously, I have to watch the TV shows (which sometimes involves heading down to the BFI Archive in London) and then I have to look into their backgrounds by flicking through old copies of the Radio Times, newspaper archives and the occasional trip to the BFI Reuben library. Luckily, I find all of this incredibly fun and the thrill of discovering a long forgotten fact is like catnip to me.

Most of all, though, I love tracking down the people involved with these shows and interviewing them to get first hand insights into the production and stories behind the shows. And, sometimes, this involves chatting to people who absolutely lit up my childhood such as Mike Amatt or Tony Robinson - a fact that would absolutely melt the mind of the three year old me. Sadly, I can't always secure interviews as, due the age of some of these shows, the people behind them are no longer with us. Nonetheless, you would be surprised at the number of people who, forty years on, are still fully immersed in the world of British TV.

And that's the story behind them. The latest one has a few exclusives in terms of interviews and even a number of shows which have never been covered on here. Now that this one is complete, I'm going to take a microscopic break before compiling the first two volumes on British children's TV into an actual physical book that you can read on the bus or even on the toilet; there's going to be an additional five shows featured, so it's going to be pretty special. Following that, I'm going to start working on volume 2 of my books on British TV comedy, so the future's bright, but the past, quite obviously is much brighter.

The Little Green Man

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When I was about 3 I had a good gaggle of friends behind me: Jonathan Stone, Adrian Tearle and Craig Nelson. Between us, we could jump off things, go down slides and scoff Party Rings like no other - we were kind of like the pre-school edition of The Rat Pack. However, whilst my mates were certainly a slick bunch (Jonathan even had a Mr Freeze), they weren't exactly endowed with magical powers. And this was always a problem when we wanted to bring snowmen to life (Mr Freeze aside who was a cool character in his own right).

It was particularly frustrating as I knew it was possible for a young boy to have friends with amazing abilities which confounded the norm. After all, I'd seen it on television and, back then, if there was one thing that I was sure of it was that EVERYTHING on television was real and possible. And one little guy who seemed hellbent on stretching the boundaries of reality was The Little Green Man.

Genre: Children's
Channel: ITV (Central)
Transmission: 03/01/1985 - 28/03/1985


Sitting in a comfy armchair one evening, Sydney Keats (Skeets to his mates) is whiling away the hours with an engrossing read when his concentration is suddenly disrupted by an unusual commotion outside his window. Poking his head out the window with all the vigor of the very best nosy neighbour, Skeets' world is flipped turned upside down when he sees a hyper-illuminated space ship flying all over the local neighbourhood before landing in his garden.


Not the least bit petrified of the potential that he could be vaporised in an instant or have his brains pickled for an analysis beyond the Milky Way, Skeets rushes outside to see what this intergalactic invader wants - don't worry, it's nothing like that awful episode of Beadle's About where Jeremy Beadle lands in a garden in Chipping Sodbury for a cup of tea. Anyway, who, if not Jeremy Beadle, is in this spaceship? Well, if it isn't The Little Green Man (his moniker perfectly describes him) and Zoom Zoom who is a, uh, little fluffy ball of yellow energy?


Greenie (as Skeets calls him) has come from the planet Zombazan, described as "a great way off", and the reason he's landed in Skeets' back garden is because he's on a mission to learn about Earth children and their myriad peculiarities - maybe it's part of a grand plan to enslave the earth, but Greenie never elaborates on this. To preserve Greenie's anonymity and no doubt keep him out of the US government's clutches, Skeets is the only human blessed with the ability to see Greenie.

Together, Skeets, Greenie and Zoom Zoom will go on a series of amazing adventures which take full advantage of Greenie's magical powers as they bring snowmen to life, go through the looking glass, help out a Duke, take a trip to the circus and even build a sandcastle. Hopefully, Greenie will learn everything he needs to know and Skeets will emerge with brains still safe ensconced in his skull. And that always makes for a nice afternoon.

Bringing The Little Green Man to Earth

The Little Green Man aired as a 13 episode solitary series and was first shown in 1985 in the Thursday 12pm slot on ITV, once the series had finished it was replaced by Fox Tales. Repeats of The Little Green Man followed in 1986 and 1988 with episodes airing in both the lunchtime slot and the Children's ITV afternoon strand of programming.

The series - produced by Central Television - was created and written by Matthew Smith who is perhaps best known as being one of the foremost authority figures on the JFK assassination and has written several books on the subject. Back in the early 80s, Matthew Smith was working as a lecturer when he came up with the idea of The Little Green Man as he told website Jedi's Paradise:

"While attending boring meetings at the college at which I lectured, my pad was invariably covered in doodles of a character I became rather fond of. I was struck by the interest of the office staff who gathered up the waste paper afterwards, and the doodle became the Little Green Man.

I wanted to write stories about a character from outer space. I had young children in mind as my audience and my objective was to create stories which were totally wholesome, which carried some kind of message which would help children, and if possible keep the interest of grown ups who watched with the children.

Nothing was simpler than to call my little character The Little Green Man (from space), and there was always some kind of learning experience as he came to learn from and with small boy, Sydney Keats. Adding The Little Green Man's pet, Zoom Zoom was just a bit of fun. Add to the mix the invisibility of The Little Green Man to everyone but Sydney Keats, and magic, and you have, invariably, the winning formula for a children's story"

Jon Pertwee - who provided all the narration and voices - had previously worked on an animated pilot called The Adventures of Sir Ned the Knight which was also written by Matthew Smith, so this initial relationship helped smooth Pertwee's path into the show. Smith told Jedi's Paradise that he has fond memories of producing Pertwee's voice work for The Little Green Man and then heading out to a Soho restaurant with him for lunch - boozing with a classic Who, could it get any better?


Despite The Little Green Man managing to achieve 7.5 million viewers at one point, there was no second series despite Central pushing for more. Due to the machinations of television production, Smith was having to stump up money of his own to pay for the production and it was not a viable move. Smith eventually sold the rights for The Little Green Man to a Swiss buyer and he now only owns the music rights.


Before the rights had been sold, a small amount of merchandise was produced and this included books, annuals, pyjamas and even a Greenie lolly - if anyone has an ancient Greenie lolly stored in their freezer then please get in touch!

Is There Life on Zombazan?

The Little Green Man was one of those shows which aired during that wonderful era when I was starting to develop lifelong memories andwas blessed with a seemingly never ending stream of fantastic lunchtime children's TV shows to watch. And The Little Green Man was one of my favourites, I even had a book called 'The Little Green Man Goes Skiing' and this really helped to solidify the memories circling round my brain.

So, why has it taken so long for me to write about it? Well, the main problem was the lack of available footage.

All I could find were a few tiny, tiny clips on YouTube and nothing else - I found a couple of snippets on old VHS tapes too, but this was of very little use in carrying out the type of extensive critique I thrive upon - I'm not known as the Brian Sewell of retro television for nothing. Oh, sure, I could have watched some at the BFI, but I kept booking up to watch other odds and sods and there was the tantalising prospect of getting hold of the official VHS of The Little Green Man - always preferable to the BFI as I can actually keep the footage to review.


However, The Little Green Man VHS is a difficult tape to track down. The only copy I could find for sale was priced at around £25 and this was far too much, it was merely exploiting the age old supply and demand factor rather than any intrinsic value. Anyway, eventually, someone ripped a copy of this tape to YouTube, so I was finally able to rewatch several episodes and wax lyrical like the low rent Brian Sewell I am.

I'm a huge Doctor Who fan, of course, and I also used to loveWurzel Gummidge, so it kind of felt that Jon Pertwee - along with Brian Cant - was always pottering away in the background of my childhood in some form. And Pertwee had a voice which was just perfect for bring animations to life (see also SuperTed), so he certainly doesn't disappoint in The Little Green Man. With his wonderfully eccentric voice packed full of both burbling lilts and a determined confidence, he immediately brings an individuality to all the characters.


Pertwee's vocal magnificence is complemented by Matthew Smith's melodic soundtrack which, whilst simple, sums up the gentle brilliance of the series with it's jaunty, jangling stabs of keyboard and synths. The theme tune, kickstarted by a jaunty and infectious burst of whistling soon segues into a chorus of children singing (pupils from the Trinity Comprehensive School, Nottingham) over what sounds suspiciously like an old time fairground organ tune. And it's quite, quite brilliant, still rattling around my head for several days after hearing it.

Soundwise, The Little Green Man is a fantastic affair, but what about the animation? Well, it's a curious affair with the fairly simplistic main characters placed against backgrounds which, at times, are remarkably detailed and, with their watercolour flourishes, look highly professional. Smith remembers having to use a variety of animators which he believes left the animation lacking a certain identity, but the only complaint I have is that the proportions of the characters and their surroundings are sometimes at odds - early episodes of The Simpsons suffer this as well though, so it's not exactly a death knell for a series.


It's time to get to the nub of The Little Green Man, though, as it is after all a series of stories, so what are these stories like? What really endears the series to me is its slightly surreal edge, Greenie's magic powers open up a whole world of imagination to help bring the fantastical to life. In particular, the episode which finds the gang venturing through the looking glass and into a world of blue faced policeman and anthropomorphic cats is exactly the kind of thing I wanted to liven up lunchtimes and, to tell you the truth, as an adult it's equally thrilling to have your mind let off its leash.

And, as with all good children's TV, there's a healthy dose of morality infused within the narrative pursuits. Skeets, Greenie and Zoom Zoom seem to be falling over themselves to help rescue families on the precipice of drowning and, as for helping dukes raise funds to keep their castles maintained and running, they're absolutely cock a hoop to get stuck into that. It's a wholesome approach to teaching children the importance of altruism and its delivered effectively thanks to the dreamy sense of wonder informing the team's exploits.

A one series wonder then, but a series which had the potential for many more gentle, yet amazing adventures. Due to the lack of clarity over the series' rights, it's unlikely that a commercial release will ever follow and the chance of a reboot is even more unlikely. However, there are 13 episodes of brilliant adventures out there which are a fine addition to the vast riches of 1980s children's TV, so let's try and uncover a few more of these episodes. And then maybe Greenie, Skeets and Zoom Zoom will be able to claim a little more of the recognition they deserve.

Chatting TV Preservation with The TV Museum

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Regular visitors to Curious British Telly will know that nothing makes me happier than digging through a box of old VHS tapes in search of programmes, continuity and adverts which haven't been seen for donkey's years. However, I'm rather limited in my search as I only have the equipment to view and copy VHS. I'd love to delve through obsolete formats such as Philips N1500/1700, Video 2000 and, of course, Betamax, but I have neither the technical savvy or money to invest. However, there are plenty of people out there who are equipped to delve through these formats.


And a case in point is The TV Museum who, for the last few years, have been on a quest to capture as much continuity footage as possible. Not only does continuity provide a wonderful snapshot of visual presentation styles and approaches, but it's an important area to concentrate on as the vast majority of continuity was never routinely archived by the broadcasters - after all, there was very little commercial value in such footage. As they carry out such sterling work - and with a seriously high level of quality - I decided to catch up with their lead curator, Ed Stradling, to find out a bit more.

You work with a number of different formats, so which pieces of equipment do you use and how did you get hold of these somewhat antiquated bits of kit?

I work in TV, and have my own edit suite/machine room at home, as used to do a lot of my own editing (less so now). So I had two DV decks and a couple of SVHS before this started, plus maybe a UMatic. But that has certainly escalated in recent years. Including spares in the loft, I have probably 40 video recorders here in total, and can play Philips 1500 & 1700, VHS, Betamax, V2000, Super Beta, SVHS, 8mm, Hi8, DV & Digital 8. I think that is every domestic SD video cassette format except DVHS. I also have some of the professional formats (UMatic low & high band, Betacam SP, SX, Digibeta, DVCAM & DVCPro). Reel-to-reel is where I draw the line, I leave those to the proper enthusiasts. Also D1, D3 & D5 pro formats - I had a D3 machine but I gave it to Phil Morris recently because it was too big for my flat!

You’ve managed to uncover footage which is well over 40 years old, but how do you go about sourcing recordings that are this old?

Some material came from the BBC archives, as some of their holdings exist in the form of broadcast quality off-air recordings with continuity (in full or in part) intact. These are almost always shows which went out live, such as Blue Peter and Swap Shop.

To go back 40 years with domestic recordings means Philips or UMatic really, as the first VHS & Betamax recorders didn't become available to the general public in the UK until 1978, although there may have been some recordings made as early as late 1977. Moreover, most early VHS/Betamax users only had a small library of tapes and they were often re-used. So domestic recordings from before 1979-80 on formats other than Philips and UMatic, are pretty rare. However, there are doubtless some collectors out there who have kept VHS/Beta recordings from those early days.

A lot of it is just a question of dedication. A couple of years ago I had to take the decision whether to stick with the formats I was comfortable with, or go looking for earlier stuff. I'm the sort of person who's "in for a penny, in for a pound", so I decided to persevere with Philips recordings and I'm glad I did, even though they are a nightmare!


The Philips machines require a huge amount of TLC. For the first year or two, I got very few successful replays. Around half of the tapes are sticky and need baking before they can be played. Even then, they often shed dirt all over the machines. Tapes sometimes snap, or become stuck in the cassette mechanism, and are then very difficult to fix. For 1500 recordings, there were compatibility problems, which meant recordings made on one machine, often wouldn't track properly on another. A random Philips 1500 recording is probably only 40% likely to give clean playback on a random player. There's a much higher chance with 1700 recordings but they can still be problematic. It's not like VHS where you just stick a tape in, and unless the tape is mouldy, you're away. Also the playback isn't terribly stable so you need a time base corrector.

There are very few Philips machines around, they last probably an average of 50 tape replays before going wrong (and that's when you know what you're doing - if not it's more like 10 replays, as I discovered to my cost in the first year or so). And there are very few people left who can repair them.

UMatic has problems with sticky & shedding tapes too, but the mechanics with UMatic are much easier and the playback is much more stable. The downside is that they weren't intended as domestic recorders, so didn't have TV tuners. There were ways around that, so there are some off-air UMatic recordings out there, but if you're looking for continuity, Philips is a much better bet as the Umatic machines didn't have timers, so people generally recorded "on the fly" and with tape being very expensive, few people deliberately kept continuities.

A lot of the Philips and some of the UMatic recordings come from Ian Levine, an old friend of mine whose name is probably known to most of your readers, but also I've found UMatic & Philips recordings from several other people.


What has been the most exciting piece of footage for you to find on a personal level and then on a cultural level?

Good question. On a cultural level, probably a BBC1 newsflash announcing Lord Mountbatten's assassination in 1979. I don't know for sure that this is missing from the BBC archives, but it probably is. Such newsflashes were rarely kept in those days.

On a personal level, the more exciting stuff is anything which I play and think to myself "this is almost certainly the only copy". Doesn't really matter if it's a whole show or just a continuity item. The Blake's 7 transmission fault (found recently) was fun, although there's probably someone else who recorded Blake's 7 on Philips or UMatic to keep, so it probably wasn't the only copy. Whereas the Mountbatten Newsflash probably is, unless the BBC has it. I've found one missing Swap Shop, a few Points of Views, a Clapperboard. That kind of thing. And I still have a few hundred Philips tapes to go through. 

Obviously finding missing programmes is more likely with 70s and early 80s material. But actually, for continuity stuff, rare material can come from as late as the early 2000s. The BBC didn't record their full output in broadcast quality on daily basis until the mid 2000s. Domestic DVD recording didn't start until around 2002/03, so very high quality off-air recordings from 1997-2002 are very rare, because only people with DV or mini-DV cassette recorders will have made them.

And even when DVD recording was available, HDD time-shifting made it easy for people to cut out the ads and continuity, so most people did. I think I have more continuity items from 1977 than I do from 2003, although admittedly that's because I don't bother with VHS recordings from as late as 2003. 

As an aside, as I type this, I'm going through some late 1990s SVHS tapes and I just saw a trailer for Robot Wars. I'm not a  fan, but my first thought was surprise that Robot Wars was that old. These days it's very easy to google the relevant info, and it turns out it's a trailer for the very first episode in early 98. Maybe it'll end up on a Robot Wars DVD!

Which is your favourite recording format and why?

High quality recording was always important to me, even back in the 1990s. The first thing I bought when I got a decent job was an SVHS recorder in 1993! So my favourite format is DV, as it was the first domestic recording format which was more or less broadcast quality. Although, unfortunately, the Sony DHR-1000, which was the first and best DV recorder, and became available in mid 1997, made recordings which were slightly softened from the originals. They still look way better than any other domestic recording format, but they're just a bit soft.

The Panasonic equivalent machine, which didn't become available until a year or so later, made pin-sharp off-air recordings.  I bought the Panasonic originally, but switched to the Sony as it much better editing facilities and general reliability, which at the time, was priority for me. So I only have a few Panasonic recordings. But they look like the master tapes.

What are the most frustrating elements you run into whilst searching for recordings and the preservation process?

Easily the most annoying thing is timer recordings which stop just before, or in the middle of, a really interesting continuity item, when there's plenty of tape space left and you're screaming "why couldn't you just keep recording!?"

Everything has an expected lifespan and magnetic tape can’t last forever, so do you feel as though it’s a real race against time or is there still plenty of time to track down every last piece of presentation?

That's only true with obsolete formats, most notably Philips 1500/1700. As I said, the tapes are vulnerable,  there are relatively few machines and parts left, so we may be at the eleventh hour really as regards transferring that material. That may be true to a lesser extent of Betamax and V2000, but the difference is that VHS/V2000/Beta tapes have lasted very well.

As long as they have been well stored, the tapes play as well as they did when they were recorded. Better on VHS, in fact, as of course the electronics in players improved as time went on - as long as you have high-end players. Some of the cheaper VHS machines, even in the later years, were atrocious.

And, in case any readers are sitting on a goldmine of material, is there anything in particular that you’re desperate to get your hands on?

There are loads of individual bits & bobs we'd like, regardless of format, but it would take too long to list them all!

Certainly we'd love to hear from anyone who recorded VHS & Beta between 1978-80 and kept the tapes. We'll happily take on the transfer of anyone's Philips 1500 material - although it can take a while. Philips 1700 too, if the recordings are from 1977-81. But we're more equivocal on 1700 collections, as they are almost as much hassle as 1500 recordings, and a lot of the material tends to be from well into the 80s. 70s stuff is worth the hassle, but 80s stuff not so much, when it's the same kind of thing we already have access to on thousands of hassle-free VHS tapes.

VHS/Beta/V2000 collections from the mid 80s are of interest, but they are low priority unless they contain non-London ITV material, as I have access to hundreds of pristine VHS recordings from that period, most of which tapes were used just once, and which give perfect playback on high-end 1990s and early 2000s VHS machines. As opposed to random Beta/V2000 tapes which were used over and over again, and of course there were no Beta/V2000 machines made after 1990 in the UK. 

ITV timer recordings from non-London regions are always welcome, as the vast majority of our collections come from London or the TVS regions.

To be honest the only tape donations I personally refuse, are general VHS recordings from 1998 onwards.  Once TV was being broadcast in anamorphic widescreen and high quality recording was possible, I'm afraid I can't get excited about 4:3 VHS recordings cropped to 14:9. I think the only thing I've digitized from VHS recently for that period, is the Sydney 2000 Olympics ident, as I didn't have it in a better format.


Many thanks to Ed and The TV Museum who can be contacted on Twitter @thetvmuseum

Archive Tape Digging - August 2017

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It's been a few months since I last shared the wonderful nuggets of British TV I've managed to dig up from old VHS tapes, but rest assured I've still been busy with this curious past time. I've received a couple of donations in that time and I even took a punt on some I saw for sale online - the cases looked pretty old and it turned out they had recordings go back to 1983, so paying out for a pile of unknown tapes does occasionally harvest something interesting.

So, without further delay, here's some of the more interesting finds I've captured!

Murun Buchstansangur - Lucky in Love? - Channel 4


Perhaps one of the oddest TV shows I've found, Murun Buchstansangur is an incredibly offbeat animation featuring a grey 'thing' who leads the most peculiar life in amongst the dirt down a crack in a kitchen. Not only is it a fairly grim existence for old Murun, but he also has to endure a stream of existential crises and all round inability to engage with the world in any manner which comes close to being described as normal. This episode comes from the first series, but is from an early 90s repeat.

20/09/1983 - Top Gear - BBC2


Long before Clarkson (and decades before Matt LeBlanc) hosted Top Gear we had presenters such as William Woollard and Chris Goffey hosting the motoring show. And this episode (missing the opening titles) demonstrates exactly how different a show it was well over 30 years ago.

15/11/1986 - Unnatural Causes: Hidden Talents - ITV


Easily the best piece of 'unseen for years' piece of television I've captured, Hidden Talents was part of the 1986 anthology series Unnatural Causes and was the final role that Pat Phoenix played before her untimely death. Written by Lynda La Plante, it's a fantastic play and a more detailed look at the show can be found over at my blog article on it.

1986 - Connections - ITV


Everyone loves Sue Robbie and her quiz show from the mid-80s is well remembered by everyone who watched it, so I was as pleased as punch to uncover a full episode of the series.  And, to add an extra sheen of delight, Charles Foster provided the Granada in-vision continuity leading up to the episode's start AND the great man provided narration in the actual episode.

29/12/1984 - Match of the Day - Goal of the Month


I love 1980s football and, tagged onto the start of a recording of a Jasper Carrott compilation show, I found the very end of that evenings Match of the Day which just happened to feature December 1984's goal of the month competition (my money's on Charlie Nicholas). There's also time for a quick word from Don Howe.

16/03/1987 Phillip Schofield Broom Cupboard - BBC1


For a certain generation, Philip Schofield appearing in The Broom Cupboard conjures up the most nostalgic memories of being carefree and able to be at home watching TV way before 5.30pm (as most adults are forced into by their pesky jobs). I've found a few clips of Andy Crane previously, but never any Schofield UNTIL NOW and, hopefully, I'll find more in the future. In fact, I did actually find 1/4 of a second of Schofield in the Broom Cupboard earlier this month on a different tape, but it was far too short to even bother getting a screenshot of.

01/11/1986 Grandstand - Football - BBC1


Even more 1980s football coverage and, this time, it comes from a chunk of Grandstand that I recently found at the end of a VHS tape. We're treated to a lengthy chat between Trevor Brooking (he wasn't a Sir back then, just a regular fella) and the legendary Bob Wilson before we see a feature on Clive Allen (with out of this world 80s jumpers) and footage from the Scottish Skol Cup final.

01/11/1986 - Saturday Superstore Bob Geldof


From the same tape as the Grandstand footage, I also unearthed the last 9 minutes of an episode of Saturday Superstore which included not only a fully clothed Keith Chegwin, but also a phone in section with a young Bob Geldof.

Some great finds indeed and I am, as ever, still itching to get hold of any tapes from the early to mid 80s that you've got sitting about collecting dust, so please get in touch! And if you've got VHS tapes from the 70s, you MUST get in touch immediately!

Hugh and I Spy

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Everyone's watched James Bond (unless you've somehow managed to permanently avoid the Christmas TV schedules) and everyone has wanted to be James Bond. He's suave, he's sexy and he's got an ingenuity that's second to none. However, is this merely a glamourised take on the realities of espionage? After all, it surely can't all be martinis and kicking back with sultry, seductive femme fatales, can it? Well, providing a sharp contrast to the world of 007 is Hugh and I Spy.

Genre: Comedy
Channel: BBC1
Transmission: 22/01/1968 - 26/02/1968


Following their return from an overseas cruise, Terry (Terry Scott) and Hugh (Hugh Lloyd) soon find themselves in the offices of MI5 where they're recruited as a pair of secret agents. Bumbling and fumbling their way through escapades involving Chinese dope fiends, plots to drug England's tea supply and mistakenly parachuting into East Germany instead of West. Working alongside Terry and Hugh are fellow agents Bushbaby (Aidan Turner) and Studley (Rex Garner).

Spying on the Production

Hugh and I ran for six series between 1962 - 67 before writer John Chapman decided to call time on the partnership. However, less than a year later, he decided there was still mileage in the duo and drafted them into a world of espionage in Hugh and I Spy, the title itself being a knowing nod to the US TV series I Spy. Terry and Hugh were more than up for a reunion as Terry noted when he said "The trouble when you're on your own is that people are always saying: where's the other one? They think they are only getting half their money's worth".

Hugh and ISpy aired on BBC1 in early 1968 on Monday evenings in the 7.30pm slot and consisted of six 30-minute episodes. The series received only one solitary airing and was never repeated. Terry and Hugh's popularity, along with a reliance on overseas programming, meant that Hugh and I Spy also travelled to Australia where the series aired on ABV-2 in 1969. As with so much British programming of the era, Hugh and I Spy was wiped out of existence in the early 1970s. However, in 2013, the final episode of the series - 'Tea or Coffin' - turned up as part of a collection for sale on Ebay and has now been safely preserved.

Shaken, but not Stirred

Terry Scott and Hugh Lloyd are one of those wonderfully British comedy duos whose pairing still resonates through to the world of contemporary comedy - just look at Mitchell and Webb in Peep Show who, despite their self professed authority, are ultimately the most clueless individuals in any narrative they find themselves in. You could say this comedy archetype goes back even further - such as Laurel and Hardy - but Terry and Hugh are a wholly British take along with The Likely Lads. Anyway, the comedy force is strong in Terry and Hugh, so it's always a delight to see them in action.

Just over a 1/3 of the Hugh and I catalogue exists and, whilst this is better than nothing, it still feels like a travesty that a sizeable chunk of the 1960s British comedy landscape has been obliterated out of existence with a carelessness more readily associated with waiters at Frankie and Benny's. And, for so many, many decades, it was believed that Hugh and I Spy had been completely destroyed - much like any meal at Frankie and Benny's - so this was even more galling than Hugh and I's fate. Hope springs eternal, though, and eventually we've been rewarded with a snapshot of Hugh and I Spy.

It's not necessarily easy to view 'Tea or Coffin', but the TV preservation experts at Kaleidoscope recently put on an event which - amongst a whole treasure trove of rarely seen delights - included this snapshot of Hugh and I Spy. As you might have guessed - otherwise this article would be highly devoid of detail - I attended this eventand lapped up the comedy stylings of Terry and Hugh.

Naturally, given the fact that Hugh and I Spy aired almost 50 years ago, a certain level of dating that has to be acquiesced. There's a cosy level of comedy on offer and it's elevated by the comedy bickering provided by Terry and Hugh's well honed and perfectly balanced chemistry, but it would be foolish to suggest that when Hugh and I Spy flexes its comedy muscle that every sinew is stretched to breaking point. This being 1968, though, means that Hugh and I Spy aired in an era when so many comedy boundaries were yet to be smashed that expectations and tastes were more measured.

Importantly, though, Hugh and I Spy, is still funny and contains genuine laughs that have withstood the rigours of 50 years of social and cultural changes. Sure, some feel like guilty pleasures now - I caught at least two gags centred around 'horrifying' insinuations that Terry and Hugh were more than just good friends - but there were plenty of fine setups such as a timebomb being passed backwards and forwards unknowingly in Terry's suitcase and Terry and Hugh portraying a pair of sedated 'corpses' was written and performed by a team who knew how to wring every last ounce of comedy from a scene.

Perhaps the best lines were reserved for Fred Emney who appeared in several episodes and is given the codename Chihuahua for 'Tea or Coffin'. A great, deluded twit in the greatest British comedy traditions, Fred Emney - looking like Winston Churchill's doppelganger here - is perhaps even more bumbling than Terry and Hugh and is one of the highlights of the episode. For some reason, I also found Hugh's feigned condition of "twinges in the Ganges" far funnier than I should have done, but even an innuendo which doesn't even make sense can still be highly fun at the right moment.

Where the series really shows its age is in the dubious usage of race, the first episode of the series, for example which centres around the activities of Chinese thugs is entitled 'Yellow Peril' and 'Tea or Coffin' finds Fred Emney painting his skin to appear Indian which, even if it is for the purposes of espionage, would be a hard sell for modern television commissioners. However, where Hugh and I does excel is in its extensive use of Asian actors as it was an age in which jobbing Asian actors found screen time difficult to come by as Kristopher Kum - who appeared in the episode 'Five in a Bed' - described at the time:

"Unless you happen to be very well off, you have to have a second job or your own business. There aren't enough roles to provide full time employment. Some producers even give Asian roles to English actors who then speak their lines with an I instead of an R"

Obviously, I've only viewed one episode - and this may remain the case for all eternity - but it was a highly enjoyable watch and provided further proof that Terry and Hugh were comedy performers of some renown. A wholesome sitcom that, despite the obvious dating, retains that magisterial handling of comedy narrative and has left me wanting to see more. The level of available detail surrounding the series is fairly minimal - hence the number of gaps in my coverage - so if you've got any more insights and information get in touch!

*The still at the top of this article comes from the British Comedy Guide's rundown on the series.

Teddy Edward

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Technology may advance at a rapid pace and fads may come and go, but teddy bears remain a resolute pillar of childhood; their furry, almost stately charms are hard to deny, so it’s understandable why so many children cling onto their beloved teddies in bed and well into adulthood.

And it’s not only in reality that teddy bears are cherished, fiction is equally as obsessed with these woolly-haired and adjustable limbed caniforms. Children’s fiction, in particular, takes great delight in transporting teddy bears into a narrative and children’s television has followed suit accordingly.

One of the lesser spotted teddy bears stalking through the vast forests of British children’s TV is Teddy Edward, a medal wearing and globetrotting teddy whose adventures are captured in Teddy Edward.

Genre: Children's
Channel: BBC1
Transmission: 05/01/1973 - 30/03/1973


Narrated by veteran newsreader Richard Baker, Teddy Edward concentrates on the activities of Teddy Edward and his animal pals Snowy Toes the panda, Bushy the bushbaby and Jasmine the rabbit. A number of Teddy Edward lookalike teddy bears also pop up, but remain nameless.

Together, these characters set off on their travels to explore various parts of the world and their accompanying settings and phenomena such as rain, snow, fishing, red Indians and mountains.
These affable narratives are told through a series of still photographs which are zoomed in and out of to show the characters in their surroundings. No movement is present and, apart from Richard Baker’s narration, the rest of the soundtracks consists of sound effects e.g. birdsong and running water.


I know that description doesn’t really suggest much of a visual picture, so let’s take a look at the ‘Visit’ episode to establish what a Teddy Edward episode consists of. It starts with Snowy Toes sailing down from his home in the mountains to see Teddy Edward; before Snowy Toes knows it, Teddy Edward has dug his fishing rod out and they’re fishing. It’s a sedate, peaceful scene, but this calm is soon interrupted when Teddy Edward gets a bite on his line.

There’s such a struggle to land the catch that it must surely be a whale. Teddy Edward and Snowy Toes use all their might to wrestle and thrash with the line, but additional help is required – cue the arrival of several Teddy Edward lookalikes. Eventually, the catch is landed, but it’s not a whale. Instead, the denouement of the episode is a world away from Moby Dick as Teddy Edward has actually caught a bell. However, far from leaving Teddy Edward with the bitter taste of failure in his mouth, he’s very pleased as it’s a very fine bell indeed.

A Bear’s Tale

Teddy Edward started as a series of books written by Patrick Matthews in the early 1960s and were inspired by a teddy bear that Matthews’ daughter Sarah owned. The idea to photograph this teddy, stemmed from a photo that Matthews had taken of Cecil Beaton’s cat in a flower bed – yes, really. Matthews and his wife, Mollie, then wondered whether there was something in photographing their daughter’s teddy bear and telling stories around it.

The resulting Teddy Edward books sold around 250,000 copies and led to the BBC considering a TV adaption in 1965, but the idea failed to gain momentum. Following Matthew’s retirement from the world of publishing, he approached the BBC to discuss the possibility of adapting Teddy Edward’s adventures for TV. Perhaps regretting their decision in 1965, the BBC offered Matthews thirteen five-minute episodes in the Watch with Mother slot.


The series was not an in-house production by the BBC and, instead, came from Q3 London who also produced Fingerbobs, Crystal Tipps and Alistair and Joe. Richard Baker was brought in following his previous children’s TV voice work on Mary, Mungo and Midge in 1969.

Although operating on a fairly basic premise with no requirement for a film crew – Matthews took all the photos himself – Teddy Edward was certainly not made on a shoestring due to Teddy Edward’s reputation as a “much travelled bear” with production trips to Spain, France and Greece. Only one series of Teddy Edward was produced, but it was repeated up until 1978 and also aired in New Zealand and Norway. Following the end of the series, a number of books and records were produced to continue the adventures of Teddy Edward such as 'Teddy Edward Goes to Mount Everest'.

And you may be wondering where Teddy Edward, himself, is now located. Well, following Matthews’ death in 1996, Teddy Edward was sold at auction to a Japanese collector of teddy bears, Yoshihiro Sekiguchi, for £34,500 and ensured that Teddy Edward embarked on at least one more grand journey.

Ready, Teddy, Go!

Despite not airing in over 35 years, Teddy Edward still holds a special place in the memories of many children. And, the fact that it was transmitted in amongst such classics as Bagpuss and The Clangers, inevitably means there must be something special tucked away in Teddy Edward. Being born in the early 1980s, though, meant that I completely missed the Teddy Edward bus and, with available footage being limited to a few seconds at best, I was a little worried that it was a slice of children’s TV which would remain out of my curious grasp.

Thankfully, the BFI Archive were able to rustle up two episodes – ‘Visit’ and ‘The Farm’ – of Teddy Edward for me to get a handle on the series and determine exactly why it’s remembered so fondly by the children of the 1970s.

First and foremost, the initial premise of Teddy Edward and its lack of movement may sound cheap and limited, but Patrick Matthews has managed to secure such an array of locations that the whole world appears to be Teddy Edward’s oyster. And these locations are so picturesque and pastoral that they’re perfectly deployed to create peaceful, timeless environments which define the innocence of children’s TV; it’s an achievement which is further bolstered by Matthew’s amazing photography.


Despite the opening theme being a jaunty, woodwind led affair, the actual soundtrack reflects the appealing photography by teasing out the gentle hum of nature. It’s a collage of sounds so tranquil and relaxing that it plainly offers a less toxic alternative to drugs for insomnia. In spite of this, it would be a foolish move to sleep through Teddy Edward as the gentle charms of the characters and stories tap into that irresistible British brand of delightfulness. And central to this is Teddy Edward himself.

Teddy Edward isn’t a Holden Caulfield style character bursting with ticking idiosyncrasies and flaws; instead, he’s the epitome of a warm, welcoming bear who exudes a simplistic allure at every turn, so it’s no surprise that he surrounds himself with equally agreeable friends such as Snowy Toes. And the plots these characters find themselves in are… well… they’re not exactly overloaded with shape shifting narrative frameworks.

Teddy Edward hunting down an egg for his breakfast is far from eventful, but these are stories for pre-schoolers, viewers for whom damning indictments of religious faith – or concepts just as hideously grown up – can wait a few years. Instead, the adventures of Teddy Edward are concise romps through an idyllic world which, regardless of being far removed from reality, are quintessentially British. They draw from that great tradition of children’s stories which impart crucial life lessons through the exploits of the protagonists.

The icing on the cake is the charismatic voice of Richard Baker whose warming tones grant Teddy Edward a calming presence. It’s a skill that Baker had honed in the newsroom and prevents any hint of panic ever setting in, so, in the end, you always know that Teddy Edward will be okay.

The Bear Necessities

Teddy Edward absolutely deserves a larger mention in the history of British children’s TV, but due to a relatively short run of repeats – compared to other shows – the series has never quite reached the upper echelons of its genre in terms of unadulterated fandom.

It’s a real shame as here’s a series which ticks all the boxes required to qualify as classic children’s TV in such a unique manner. With its marvellous photography, charming characters and fantastic sense of Britishness, Teddy Edward has a lot to offer any newcomers to the party. Teddy bears may, in conclusion, make unusual bedfellows – especially when their real life counterparts would rather savage us – but the eternal appeal of teddy bears means you’ll never want to give up Teddy Edward.

Tony Sarchet on His Comedy Writing Career

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What we find funny varies tremendously from person to person, so writing comedy is perhaps one of the hardest jobs in entertainment. I spent around five years writing a seemingly stratospheric pile of sketches and, by the end of that period, five of them ended up being performed in various stage shows in London. So, yes, it's a tough old game, but for every 10,000 failed writers there's one who bubbles up to the surface like a tasty carrot in a particularly indulgent broth.


And, whilst Tony Sarchet wouldn't fit in a soup bowl, he's a fine example of a comedy writer who's managed to translate his passion for comedy into a career which has seen his talents grace stage, radio and screen. It's a career which has seen him work with Stephen Fry, Who Dares Wins, Richard Wilson, Three of a Kind, Jasper Carrott and Spitting Image, so this role call of talent is a testament to his skill and one that I wanted to hear more about.


So, rather than decorate him with croutons and black pepper before prodding at him with a spoon, I decided to catch up with Tony Sarchet to hear a little more about his life as a comedy writer.

How did you get started in the world of comedy writing?

I wrote some revue pieces at school and then university and whilst there sent a few articles to Punch magazine. This led to a suggestion that I should start contributing to a BBC radio show called Week Ending - a weekly satirical sketch show that the Radio Comedy Department used as an entry point for new writers. Loads of us got started there.

What were the shows that made up your comedy landscape growing up and how did they
influence your writing?


I loved Spike Milligan’s writing, his books mainly - The Goon Show was before my time: but when
The Goon Show Scripts were published, I thought they were hilarious. On TV I remember at a young age enjoying The Frost Report and obviously I was a big fan of Monty Python. Eric Sykes was a great comic performer and there were a lot of brilliant sitcoms.


I would say my favourite was Whatever Happened To The Likely Lads. Not only was it very funny but if you look back on it you can see that the writers Clement and La Frenais brilliantly managed to capture the way Britain was changing at that time – personified by Bob and Terry, the two main characters – one determinedly upwardly mobile, the other resolutely working class. The storylines were really clever too.

How did any of this influence my writing? I suppose it helped me get a feeling for what I found
funny. Beyond that I can’t really say.


You’ve written for both television and radio, so how does your approach to writing differ for
each format?


Some of the best comedy on TV is visual – Del falling through the bar in Fools and Horses for
example. The impact is immediate. Also, how people react, their facial expressions, can be as funny as what has just been said. On radio you can’t “do it with a look”, you have to have someone respond verbally. Of course, the silence before they do can be very funny – because it’s all going on in the listener’s head. People say radio is more of a writer’s medium because it is ‘all about the words’ but that also makes those words much more exposed.


On TV there’s also a difference between writing for a multi-camera format like a sit com or a single camera format like a film. The multi-camera format is more like writing a play – the characters move around on a set and the cameras have to find them. Writing for a single camera format you have to be much more aware of what the audience is looking at shot by shot. And in general the scenes need to be much more concise.


How do you judge whether a line you’ve written is funny?

It helps if you find it funny. In fact, that’s pretty much essential. When you come up with a line that works, you can just tell really, you get a feeling, a ‘yes!’, it makes you laugh, you get a warm glow of
satisfaction. The trouble is you also get that feeling with lines that don’t work.


So you try them out, to see what kind of a reaction they get. Even then, you can’t know. Different
audiences respond in different ways. In the theatre, a line will get a laugh one night but not the next. So was one of those audiences wrong?


In theory it’s a debate that could go on indefinitely. In practice, you take a script to a readthrough, a line bombs and no one else has to tell you, you just take it out. Conversely, sometimes lines you didn’t really much care for, place-holder lines, get a big reaction and you start to like them more.

It’s a tricky business.

What is the most challenging aspect of getting a script commissioned and put into
production?


It’s not easy to get a script commissioned but it is harder to get a broadcaster to commit to it by
going into production. From their point of view saying yes is much more expensive than saying no.


You wrote for Richard Wilson just after he’d finished playing Victor Meldrew, so how did you
go about writing for an actor who had the shadow of such an iconic comedy character
hanging over him?


I didn’t really find that a problem for a number of reasons. First of all, Richard is a superb comic actor and a joy to write for. Secondly, High Stakes was set in the world of global banking and the character Richard played, an arrogant, hard-bitten but inwardly deeply insecure veteran of the trading floor was quite a long way removed from the world of Victor Meldrew.
Also, the comedy revolved around the rivalry between Richard’s character and the one played by
Jack Shepherd so the dynamics were entirely different. And the world I was working in with them,
sending up the lunacy of banks, their self-deluding arrogance and basic incompetence, was an
entirely different kind of comic nightmare from the one Victor Meldrew was living in.


If there was one decision in your comedy career that you could go back and change, what
would it be and why?


The decisions are not as harmful as the indecisions – and when it comes to those British television is the world leader. I found myself in the worst indecision maze of my career – so far - when working on a comedy drama series I developed for BBC drama which was about the chaos caused when a team of management consultants set to work reorganising a company. At the time, I didn’t pay sufficient attention to the fact that the BBC were actually undergoing that exact same process themselves.

The result was that every time I delivered a script it seemed to be to a different (interim) head of drama. The trouble was, each new (interim) head of drama liked it enough to commission another script and that meant that I effectively wrote four pilot episodes for a series that would only have been six episodes in total. It took up far too much of my time and ended up not getting made. It was a totally demoralising experience. I got drawn into the sunk cost fallacy - I should have cut my losses at a much earlier stage.

How do you feel that British television comedy has changed since you first started writing?

I don’t think I appreciated it then but the start of the 1980s was a good time to be entering the
comedy writing world – there were lots of sketch shows and some very good producers eager to do new stuff. It felt like you could write about anything. And there were a lot more scripted comedy slots in the TV schedules.


Nowadays it all feels far more cautious and much more performer-led. It’s certainly true that things aren’t given as much of a chance to grow. Back then I think if someone senior liked a show they would keep faith with it. It seems like there is much less of a gut-feeling approach to it these days and a much greater fear of getting it wrong.
 

It's been a pleasure talking to you, Tony, so many thanks!

27 Works of Art from Hartbeat’s The Gallery

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Every child in Britain wanted to get their picture featured in The Gallery section from Tony Hart's Hartbeat and the BBC's mail room most probably had to hire in additional staff every time a new series commenced. Naturally, the quality and format of the work always varied wildly, but this was what made The Gallery so special as it rewarded inspiration and artistic endeavour. And, to help reward this work once more, I'm going to feature 27 works of art from Hartbeat's The Gallery!




























Fine work, indeed, but which is your favourite? And did you ever manage to get anything displayed in the gallery? Let me know in the comments section!

A Frame with Davis

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Whilst snooker still holds a dedicated following and racks up viewing figures that just about pot the black for the BBC, it's a far cry from the glory days of the 1980s when 18.5 million viewers tuned in for the 1985 World Snooker Championship. Interest in the sport was at an all time high and these rather unassuming players (Hurricane Higgins aside) were soon edging into the bracket of celebrity. And it was popularity which soon led to other celebrities wanting to play A Frame with Davis.

Genre: Chat Show
Channel: Channel 4
Transmission: 1983 - 86


A Frame with Davis is a chat show hosted by Steve Davis, but a chat show with a competitive element and a little bit of pro training. Each week, two celebrities match up to play a frame of snooker and this can see such heavyweight contests as Denis Waterman battling it out over the baize with Willie Carson or even Emlyn Hughes going toe to toe against MaxBoyce. Now, these aren't furiously competitive games of snooker, in fact they're much like a game of snooker you might see taking place late at night in a pub.


And that's because, remember, this is a chat show, so Steve Davis interjects between the potting to chat with the celebrities on offer. Often, he likes to a draw parallels between the world of snooker and the celebrities profession, so, for example, with Emlyn Hughes he discusses the amount of coaching involved in football compared to snooker and whether talent is an inherent quality. Sometimes, Davis simply concentrates on the celebrity's career such as questioning Denis Waterman on whether he prefers acting on stage or screen.

Being a multiple world champion, Davis is well positioned to bring his expertise to the table and provides plenty of tips for the celebrities when they're in need of positioning advice or forming a solid bridge. Davis is particularly keen on stepping in if one of the celebrities is running away with the frame and, therefore, jeapordising the run time of the episode. All of this takes place in front of a studio audience - originally they're sat in traditional row seating, but later series see them at delightful, lamp lit tables.

Setting Up

First airing in 1983, A Frame with Davis aired on Channel 4 and was an Anglia production in conjunction with Action Time. The 1983 series aired on Thursday evenings in the 11.20pm slot and the 1984 series was transmitted at 10pm on Saturday evenings. Eventually, the series moved to a more primetime slot with the 1985 series which aired at 6.30pm and went out on consecutive evenings over the Christmas and New Year period. The series was moderately successful with it sneaking into the top 10 viewed Channel 4 programmes with around 1.65 million viewers.

The theme tune for A Frame with Davis was composed by guitarist Alan Parker who also worked on Minder, Dempsey and Makepeace and provided guitar for the Top of the Pops theme tune reboot of Whole Lotta Love. The initial concept for the series came from an idea developed and produced by Jeremy Fox who had previously produced The Krypton Factor and, demonstrating his passion for snooker, The Sports Quiz with Steve Davis.

In Off the Cushion

Someone on Twitter alerted me to the existence of a Steve Davis fronted chat show a while ago, but sadly YouTube was only able to throw up a couple of short clips. Better than nothing, of course, but not enough to get to the nub of this particularly curious matter. After all, we all know that Britain went snooker loopy (nuts are we) during the 1980s, but A Frame with Davis nary gets a mention aside from some references in 2016's The Rack Pack.


And the clips on YouTube were rather beguiling as the concept is just so... unusual? Big Break - easily the most successful non-competition snooker snow - made sense and had a logical foundation to it, it was a quiz show with a little bit of comedy chucked in. But the idea of Steve 'interesting' Davis hosting a chat show as celebrities took to the table sounded like the scrapings of Alan Partridge's bottomless barrel of shocking TV pitches. And, naturally, this meant I had to seek out more of this curiosity, so I headed to the BFI to watch a few episodes.

Despite his nickname, I've always found Steve Davis an interesting chap brimming with insights and a self-deprecating wit. However, his fashion sense is simultaneously horrendous and dull throughout the footage of A Frame with Davis I've managed to view - he seems most at home in mundane V-neck jumpers with a wide collared open white shirt. Oddly, in a 1983 issue of the TV Times - when Davis was appearing in both A Frame with Davis and The Sports Quiz - he was involved in a fashion feature which made the lofty claim that he was the archetype of a model. There truly was no accounting for taste in the 80s... 

Fashion aside - and no one can be perfect at everything - the concept actually works very well. It's a highly informal show and the concept is far removed from more static chat shows (pretty much every single one I can think of was static). Davis' curious, yet engaging charm is welded to a precision guided sense of engagement which is fuelled by the laddish and laid back bonhomie of the guests. And the studio audience lap it up, getting involved either intentionally or when Max Boyce decides to grab their glasses for a better look at the table.



Fouls are commited, but gleefully ignored whilst Davis and his guests cavort around the table in between sitting down for a quick chat on the intricacies of owning race horses or who Emlyn Hughes' favourite footballer was (Hughes also claims that no English team will dominate in the same manner Liverpool have, but this was, of course, about 9 months before Alex Ferguson headed to Manchester). And the guests aren't a rag tag of z-list celebs, they're all talented individuals who are integral parts of British culture, the leading benefit of which is that there's plenty to talk about.

And Davis handles it all admirably. Sure, he's not a Michael Parkinson or a David Frost, but no one's expecting that - and I sincerely doubt that Parky or Frost were particularly confident around a snooker table even in their pomp. So, yeah, Davis can be a little bit rabbit in the headlights in the first series, but his natural curiosity for his guests gets the job done and his eyes really start to twinkle when he gets to impart his snooker expertise. And, in the later series, he's more assured which is admirable considering his sudden thrusting into the role of a TV presenter.

With a whole host of guests (including Mike Reid, Norman Wisdom, Bernie Winters and Suzanne Daniels), A Frame with Davis provides plenty of interest not just of a particular era, but also as a cultural snapshot when a sport, which is quintessentially British, became a national obsession and changed the lives of its stars beyond all recognition and, much like A Frame with Davis, is almost certainly unlikely to be repeated. So, let's try and dig up some complete episodes as they would make some perfect Sunday night viewing.

Behind the Bike Sheds

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School days, are they really the best days of our lives? All I seem to recall is endless mornings and afternoons spent staring out the window of either freezing cold or swelteringly hot portacabins at nothing in particular.

Okay, I could have paid a bit more attention and actually done some of that there learning, but education can be such a frightful affair at the best of times, particularly when it’s being enforced by a man for whom body odour and dental hygiene are foreign concepts. However, it would probably have taken more than a swift shower and glug of mouthwash to liven things up and get me fully on board. What I wanted was a little bit more entertainment and, if I had known at the time, it could probably have been found Behind the Bike Sheds.

Please note that I’m not suggesting I could have found any French mischief behind the bike sheds. And certainly not with Mr B.O. Halitosis. It was just a little play on a schoolboy smut, anyway, back to Behind the Bike Sheds.

Genre: Children's
Channel: ITV (Yorkshire)
Transmission: 1983 - 85


Series one of Behind the Bike Sheds finds the pupils of Fulley Comprehensive under the rule of headteacher Mr Braithwaite (Cal McCrystal) who bends his cane and swishes his black gown with all the dictatorial menace of Adolf Hitler – also the inspiration for Braithwaite’s toothpaste moustache. Perhaps the closest thing that Braithwaite has to an ally – and only because he’s an adult – is Poskitt, the school caretaker. Poskitt may be a man of sartorial inelegance and lacking in IQ, but he’s a friendly chap and rather nifty when it comes to tinkling the ivories and breaking into song.


Against this backdrop of adults, of course, there are the pupils in their delightfully pink uniforms, so let’s take a look at them.

Adam (Adam Sunderland) is a plucky, fresh faced youngster whose main role is to open each episode with a narration on the current events at Fulley Comprehensive; he also acts as a springboard for updating and driving the plot throughout the episodes. Joining Adam is his headphone wearing friend Paul (Paul Charles), a talented individual who can shift his feet like a young Michael Jackson, but also has aspirations of becoming a broadcast journalist as evidenced by his ‘Jim Raving’s Newsround’ sections in series two.


Jenny (Jenny Jay), meanwhile, is a fifth-former blessed with a precocious savvy and a determination to highlight her singing skills which is matched only by her swooning passion for boys, particularly older ones. Completing the pupils (well, as you’ll discover in the following paragraphs, kind of) is Marion (Marion Conroy), a young punk bristling with attitude and a mocking wit which is curiously juxtaposed by her beautiful singing voice and twisting dance moves.


Whilst these pupils and adults all dwell above ground, there’s one pupil (well, a puppet) who lurks eccentrically in the school boiler room and deserves a paragraph all of his own. Injured and scarred by a radioactive school dinner in the Great School Canteen Disaster some years earlier, Fanshawe is a Phantom of the Opera type character who has failed to age since being struck by the offending school dinner. As a result, he keeps the Sacred School Dinner on the wall and worships it.


Going back above ground, the pupils of Fulley Comprehensive find themselves careering through songs and sketches on sucking up to parents and the horror of school uniforms. There’s also time to squeeze in interviews with pop stars such as David Grant, Clare Grogan and The Thompson Twins. Series 2 – with its change in writers – saw a change not only in cast, but also format. The pink uniforms were replaced by plainer uniforms, the pop star interviews shelved and the series became more of a musical sitcom with Braithwaite, Poskitt, Fanshawe and Marion all departing.

Replacing Braithwaite as headmaster is Miss Megan Bigge (Val McClane) aka Mega Pig, a clear parody of Margaret Thatcher and just as dominating. Despite claiming that she’s a reasonable, loveable person who likes sweet children, she’s actually a cruel, overbearing monster. Keen to draw a line under Braithwaite’s reign, Mega Pig claims to have the heads of Braithwaite, Poskitt, Fanshawe and the school cat Bonzo mounted on her office wall. The pupils are horrified by this disturbing sight, but Mega Pig discloses that they’re just papier-mache heads.

Mega Pig needs someone to help hammer home her brand of sadistic authority and she hopes that the new deputy head Whistle Willie Jones (Ken Jones) is just the psychopath. Sadly, for Mega Pig, Whistle Willie is a wet blanket and is soon sacked, but he remains determined to prove himself. More confident is Joe Winter (Tony Slattery) who arrives on a tidal wave of charisma, impressing staff and pupils. What Joe hasn’t prepared himself for, though, is the level of anarchy awaiting him at Fulley Comprehensive which will force him through several personality changes.

And with the new gaggle of pupils joining Adam, Paul and Jenny, it’s no surprise that Joe’s mental resilience is on the ropes as he develops into a child hating maniac with fascist overtones (well, a Hitler moustache).

GBH (Linus Staples) is a thuggish, Mohican sporting punk with a penchant for cockney rhyming slang, and munching on PA systems. At the opposite end of the spectrum is Gertrude (Martha Parsey), a neatly dressed, polite goody two shoes. And, yep, you guessed it, GBH and Gertrude soon fall in love.


Chas (Lee Sparke) and AWOL (Andrew Jones) are a couple of likely lads who run many a dodgy scam and racket from the school boiler room. Chas is your typical cockney wide boy, all slick and confident whilst AWOL is a scruffy, slightly dirty lad from Yorkshire with a penchant for groan inducing gags. With Marion gone, Jenny needs a new associate and in Skids (Julie MaCauley) she’s got a new bestie. Skids has a natural talent when it comes to the old song and dance routines, but she’s also a real sweetheart and even has a baseball cap with a toucan attached to it.

Skirting around the fringes of the schoolyard, the final character is Trolley Molly (Sara Mair-Thomas), a dinnerlady who carts her culinary wares around in a trolley. Although she has the look of a new romantic, her romantic visions are clearly aimed at Joe Winter, even selling ‘jonuts’ in his honour.

Preparing the Curriculum

17 episodes of Behind the Bike Sheds were produced by Yorkshire TV over two series between 1983 – 85 for ITV. The first series was written by Rick Vanes and John Yeoman, but the second series was written by Jan Needle with additional material from a young Tony Slattery. A number of pupils featured in the series were restricted mainly to dancing (notwithstanding that some do get the occasional line) and these cast members grooved their way onto the set courtesy of The Harehills Dance Group.

Episodes aired during the 4.20pm slot with the first series airing on Wednesdays and the second series going out on Tuesdays. The series, as a whole, was never repeated, but the start of 1986 saw the transmission of five episodes entitled The Best of Behind the Bike Sheds. Going back to the start of the series, Rick Vanes recalls that the original idea for Behind the Bike Sheds was inspired by his work on two previous shows:

“It evolved out of Ad-Lib and Sunny Side Up, on which I was script associate/writer. Both programmes featured groups of talented young people presenting items and performing sketches, and there was to have been a third series of Sunny Side Up. Tragically, the director - David St David Smith - was killed in a helicopter crash while filming for a different programme, so Alister Hallum was brought in as producer/director. He wanted to take the programme in a different direction, which I totally agreed with, and so we jointly devised the format that became Behind the Bike Sheds”

Due to the varied format of the series, writing Behind the Bike Sheds was not as straightforward as a standard narrative, but, as he explains, Vanes was lucky to be paired with an exciting writer overflowing with enthusiasm:

“John Yeoman was a talented writer who was relatively new to television, and the exec producer Joy Whitby wanted him to contribute to the series. He was London-based and I was in Leeds, so the process worked like this: Alister and I (plus Joy Whitby) decided on a theme for each episode - Parents, Fashion, Sport - and John and I, working separately, set about writing sketches and song lyrics based on the themes. I then stitched these together with linking sketches to create a vague flow to each episode. Although the lyric writing was shared, John wrote the majority of them. They were then set to music by Richie Close”

Vanes and Yeoman were also fortunate to be blessed with an excellent set of young performers to bring the scripts to life, something that Vanes was able to see up close:

“I was in the studio control room throughout the recordings in Leeds, in case last-minute tweaks were needed, but much more important was my attendance at the rehearsals in London. At the rehearsals I was able to pick up on some of the things that the cast were doing, and tweak, expand and cut things as the rehearsals progressed. The atmosphere was wonderful - probably the best I have experienced in any series. The cast and crew were like one big enthusiastic family, and everybody seemed to be having a ball”

Vanes and Yeoman’s initial concept for Behind the Bike Sheds was markedly different come the time of the second series, but, as Vanes reveals, this is not a surprise due to the change in personnel involved:

“Joy Whitby, Head of Children's Programmes at YTV, and therefore exec producer on Bike Sheds, was hugely talented. But one skill she didn't have was the ability to trust in the ability of her producers and directors and leave them to get on with what they were good at. She would constantly interfere and over-rule (sometimes with good suggestions, but sometimes not), and this led to a lot of friction between her and Alister Hallum - and when series two was being planned, she fired him from the show. I had huge sympathy for Alister and declined to work on series two because I felt he had been shabbily treated”

Back to School

Despite the boredom of school, it’s a period of life which is so stuffed with formative moments that, even as we get older, ensures it remains a fascinating setting for a TV show. And, when I first heard of Behind the Bike Sheds, it was clear that here was a show for me to investigate.

However, after reading a little further, I was horrified to discover that it had strong musical elements. Immediately, I was confronted by troubling visions of dazzling smiles, tap dancing feet and all the other horrors associated with stage school pupils just itching to belt out Gee Officer Krupke!

Thankfully, the performers have the necessary skills to sidestep the pitfalls of stage school clichés and, instead, produce performances packed with youthful exuberance; it’s a vibrancy which encapsulates that wisecracking, rough and tumble persona of British schoolchildren. The pupils themselves are neatly divided into two subsections to help engage the viewers on different levels. Adam, Jenny and Paul provide a dose of child on the street reality to help narrate proceedings, whereas the comic flourishes of GBH, Chas and AWOL provide the schoolyard action.


Moving up the age groups, the adults attempting to instil calm and order at Fulley Comprehensive are equally as polished and well formed.

Braithwaite could easily fail as a caricature of disciplinarians, but little touches such as his meddling mother bringing him into school ensure he’s fully three dimensional. Poskitt, too, transcends his berkish foundation thanks to his pride, misplaced confidence and ability to hold a tune. Mega Pig receives the baton of crushing discipline from Braithwaite and is played with real relish by Val McLane. A remarkable parody of Margaret Thatcher, it’s a move which simply wouldn’t happen on modern children’s TV, hinting at how much the world has lost touch with politics in recent years.


A warmer take on adult authority is the eloquent Whistle Willie, but the main reason for his popularity with the students is down to him being a pushover. Ken Jones, of course, is a fine performer with great comic timing, so benefits from the extreme lengths Willie is pushed to.
The absolute star of the show is Tony Slattery. Bursting with comic smarts and all the confidence of an actor on the way up, Slattery takes on the challenging multi-personalities of Joe Winter and manages to nail each one effortlessly.


The narrative awaiting each character differs wildly depending on the series that they appear in. The first series’ reliance on its sketch format and pop star appearances give it more of a variety feel, but the second series foregoes this and feels more like a sitcom, albeit a musical one. They’re not exactly different shows, but they feel diverse enough that it’s impossible to declare one better. Whilst the first series has Fanshawe and contemporary pop stars popping up, it doesn’t have Tony Slattery or a superb parody of Margaret Thatcher lighting up the screen. And vice-versa.

What both series have, in absolute spades, is a scintillatingly anarchic sense of comedy and an incredible set of songs.

Sure, some of the gags are groan worthy, but there’s a joy in their cheeky delivery, most notably from Chas and AWOL. We also get Paul performing his irreverent take on Newsround, an excuse for plenty of quick paced gags and, just to confirm its comic backbone, a custard pie splatting. Fanshawe, of course, remains disturbing whenever he appears on screen, but his dedication and subservience to the sacred school dinner is a stroke of surreal genius. And then there’s the one man rampage of GBH and his delightfully blunt epitaph of “Here lies Fred Sprout, over and out”.

It’s not just the children capable of creating laughs, the adults manage to conjure up more than a few as well.

Joe Winter, of course, is a comedy masterclass from Tony Slattery, all intelligent, confident and supremely silly at the same time. It’s a difficult combination to pull off, but whether he’s suffering mental anguish in Mega Pig’s office or preaching love and peace, Slattery achieves it like a pro. Mega Pig and Braithwaite’s contempt for their pupils may feel Dickensian at times, but it’s shot through with such a measure of cartoony malice that it’s difficult not to revel in their glorious nastiness.


The songs, meanwhile, are swarming with magnificent lyrics about anarchistic ankles, sucking up to parents and the culinary delights of Trolley Molly. Perfectly burrowing into the subversive mindset of schoolchildren, there’s little more you can ask for in terms of theme. What’s really special about the songs is that they’re packed with a uniquely British flavour, one that feels a world away from the polished seriousness of Fame. After all, how often did Fame perform songs about the love between a Margaret Thatcher facsimilie and her pet python?

End of Term Report

It’s very easy to be wary about musical comedy due to the intricate skill required to fuse the two genres together successfully, but Behind the Bike Sheds makes a strong case for not hunting this genre to extinction.

Not only is the comedy and music of a level capable of tickling your funny bone and pricking up your ears, but there’s much more going on in this entertaining melee. From the gothic horror of Fanshawe through to the biting parody of Mega Pig, it’s quite unlike anything else.

Ultimately, Behind the Bike Sheds was miles more entertaining than anything I saw unfolding outside the window of my French lessons. Sure, it wasn’t a realistic representation of school life, but that, after all, is the escapist genius of TV.

Doris

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Back when I was a much younger man, the first pet I came to know and love was our cat, Tussy - a white Persian with one blue and one green eye. He'd been a family pet since long before I was born and, so my first memories of Tussy stem from when he was about 14. Therefore, he wasn't the most agile cat at this point and it was rare I'd see him do anything more strenuous than jumping on a worktop. However, I like to think that, when he was a much younger cat, he would get up to all sorts of adventures such as going to the moon, skiing and dealing with robots. Much like Doris.

Genre: Children's
Channel: ITV (Yorkshire)
Transmission: 1983 - 85


Doris is a black and white cat who, much like any other cat, can't speak the old human language, so can only communicate through meows.Luckily, for Doris, the necessity of a human voice is inessential in the feline world and certainly doesn't hold her back when it comes to living an anthropomorphised bipedal life. And, coupled with her Converse wearing, ginger tom boyfriend Marlon, Doris is going to find herself getting into all manner of scrapes with nary a ball of twine in sight.


Rather than stealing strings of sausages, Doris will... Oh wait, that's dogs. Well, the point's the same, there won't be cliche cat adventures such as seeking out a welcoming lap to snooze in or planning to raid a bin in search of fish heads. Instead, Doris will be pushing the boundaries of catlife by undertaking trips to the moon to tackle industrious, but foolish mice, floating through the night sky in a giant spoon (I'm not even lying) and trying to improve the romantic prospects for a lonely snowman.

Scratching Post

Devised and directed by Hilary Hayton - the creator of Crystal Tipps and Alistair - 40 episodes of Doris aired over the course of two series in 1983 and 1985. Produced by Yorkshire Television (although the second series also credits Hayton Associates), episodes of Doris were five minutes long and aired daily as part of the Children's ITV schedule in the 4.20pm slot. The series was based on a series of books written by Hayton which had been published by Piccolo in 1982.

The first series of Doris featured animation by Peter Lang (who had created Pigeon Street with Alan Rogers), but Lang had departed by the second series and was replaced by Martin Wansborough who has since contributed his animation skills to a number of Hollywood films. Providing the soundtrack for Doris was the esteemed composer Derek Wadsworth whilst keyboardist Dave Lawson conjured up the electronic bleeps that act as Doris and her pal's meows.

Curious Cat?

Although born during the requisite period to have caught the second series and be capable of storing memories for use in a blog over 30 years later, I cannot remember watching one second of Doris. And I even owned a cat at the time, so you would have thought that watching Doris would have been a crucial part of my television viewing habits, but no - maybe my brother was watching Spiderman over on BBC1? It was only a week or so ago that I actually heard of the series after someone on my Facebook group alerted me to it.


Several episodes of the series are currently sitting pretty on YouTube (seemingly from foreign broadcasts given the translated episode titles) but part of the beauty of Doris is that it doesn't rely on language at all. And not only does this make it perfect for selling abroad, it also creates a wonderful slice of viewing for those with auditory impairments (much like ZZZap!) although less so for those who are visually impaired...


Anyway, I decided that Doris was worth a watch and headed straight for YouTube. Given the iconic status of Crystal Tipps and Alistair it's difficult not to compare the two series and there are certainly a number of similarities. Both are dialogue free and the visual aesthetics share a common gene, but Doris doesn't quite have the iconic sheen of style as Crystal Tipps and, as a result, the characters within Doris feel a little bit generic due to their simplicity - some of the backgrounds, though, are highly detailed pieces, but others - such as the adventures on the beach and the ski slopes - are sparse affairs indeed.


However, you can't judge a book by its cover and, in Doris, there's an intriguing set of narratives waiting to unfold. Whilst the lack of dialogue can make the plots a little confusing at times (are the mice chiselling into the moon for cheese? It certainly doesn't look like a cheese based moon! And why does Marlon head off on holiday without Doris?!) there's a pleasing dose of whimsy infusing the episodes such as the aforementioned 'giant flying spoon' episode which finds Doris floating through a starry, dreamlike landscape on a pink, fluffy cloud. Before being scooped up by said spoon.


Combined with an ever-changing soundscape that can quickly switch from sublime, melodic hummery to synth based grandeur, Doris carves out a surreal and interesting spectacle which manages to condense a huge amount of plot progression into what's less than a 5 minute run time, kind of like a Tardis narrative if you can imagine such a thing. And this is why Doris, although not defining itself as a slab of legendary children's TV, certainly gives the boundaries of the genre a damn good stretching and resolutely refuses to outstay its welcome.

Z for Zachariah

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Hands up who loves a bit of alone time! That's right, everyone on this busy, congested celestial body comprised of land, water and incessant "HAVE YOU BEEN IN AN ACCIDENT?!" phone calls has to get away from it all every now and then. However, if humans had always been purely solitary souls then we wouldn't even have the option to now pick up a call from Accidents4UDirect. Our ability to socialise and build bonds with one another has allowed us to pool resources like no other organism on Earth and deliver remarkable achievements.

And one of these 'achievements' is the development of nuclear weapons. Much more harrowing than any cold call from an industrial estate in Grimsby - where they seem genuinely thrilled if you've so much as received a papercut at work - nuclear weapons have the power to, amongst all manner of horrors, break down every single social bond ever developed by man. It's not implausible that, were a nuclear attack to unfold, many of the 'lucky' survivors would find themselves relegated to the position of social refugees.

Alone time, for those solitary survivors, would soon become an inescapable hell set in a futile landscape. Jean-Paul Sartre, however, in his play 'No Exit' wrote that "Hell is other people" and, when you take a look at Z for Zachariah, you'll be left thinking that maybe the French polymath had a point.

Genre: Drama
Channel: BBC1
Transmission: 28/02/1984


16 year old Ann Burden (Pippa Hinchley) lives in a remote, idyllic Welsh valley which, due to a meteorological quirk, has a weather system all of its own. And, by a stroke of luck, it's this geological oddity which has protected the valley from the after-effects - namely fallout - of a nuclear attack on the UK. Ann's father (David Daker), finding nothing but dead residents and wildlife in neighbouring villages, mounts an expedition further afield with their surviving neighbours and advises Ann to stay put and keep an eye on their farm.


However, Ann's father (and the rest of her family) never return, leaving Ann as the sole survivor (aside from her dog, Faro) in the valley. Tending to the farm as best she can, Ann carves out a solitary existence against the rolling hillsides and makes sure she avoids the one stream which has been irradiated, a conclusion she comes to due to the presence of dead fish (and a sheep) littering its flow. After some time, Ann spies a mysterious tent set up at the edge of the valley. Fearing the stranger within, Ann beats a hasty retreat up to a cave on the hillside to keep a distant watch.

Emerging from the tent is a figure clad in a radiation suit and pulling a trolley of scientific instruments behind him. After heading to the farm and carrying out a number of atmospheric checks, the figure decides that all is safe and removes the helmet of his radiation suit to reveal that he is John Loomis (Anthony Andrews). Overjoyed that he has found safe, inhabitable surroundings, Loomis fails to complete his environmental checks thoroughly and dives into the radioactive stream for a quick scrub.


Ann remains holed up in the cave in amongst her charcoal drawings and supplies, but Loomis soon becomes aware that he's not alone when Faro runs back to the farm for a quick spot of chicken before retreating back towards Ann's cave. Before Loomis has time to thoroughly explore the landscape, the radioactive effects of bathing in the stream begin to kick in and he's soon vomiting violently. Heading back to his tent in order to seek some form of protection from this mysterious source of radiation, Loomis is soon a shivering wreck; it's at this point that Ann finally decides to approach and offer help.

Upon learning that the stream he bathed in is radioactive, Loomis is distraught at his mistake but estimates that there's a small chance he may pull through due to a relatively short exposure time. During moments of relative clarity, Loomis reveals more of his background to Ann and the events following the war.


Nerve gas was deployed after the nuclear bombs to finish off any survivors, but Loomis' inexplicable survival is down to the radiation suit he possesses. A plastics researcher in Cambridge, Loomis was working on a special government financed project to develop polymers which could repel radiation. With the addition of sophisticated filters, the team was able to develop this into a radiation suit. Before the suit could go into production, however, war broke out with only a single prototype available. And it's this prototype which helped protect Loomis and keep him protected from contamination.


Loomis' health gradually deteriorates as anaemia kicks in and his mental health rapidly disintegrates with wild flashblacks to his time in Cambridge. Brought back to the farmhouse for Ann to look after him, Loomis seems wildly haunted by memories of his research colleague, Edward - at one point Loomis becomes convinced Edward is in the house and starts firing shots at the building. Keen to advise Ann on the best way to run the farm and produce crops, Loomis begins issuing orders which become increasingly aggressive.

Loomis slowly begins to recover, but his determination to take charge of the farm and Ann intensifies. Fearing for her safety after Loomis bursts into her bedroom one night and grabs wildly at her, Ann leaves the farmhouse and retreats to the cave on the hillside. Returning to the farmhouse to advise Loomis she has no choice but to form an uneasy alliance with him, Ann agrees to work alongside him, but live separately. Loomis dismisses her as immature and gradually shuts off her supplies which leads to a final, climatic showdown between the pair where Ann reveals that she knows the truth about Edward and what their future holds.

Dropping the Bomb

An adaptation of Robert C. O'Brien's posthumous 1974 novel of the same name (albeit with the US swapped for Wales), Z for Zachariah aired under the Play for Today banner during the long running anthology's final year. The screenplay was adapted by Anthony Garner who was most commonly found in the director's chair and would later go on to direct episodes of Auf Wiedersehein, Pet and Soldier, Soldier. And, just for good measure, Garner directed his own script with Neil Zeiger acting as producer - Zeiger, of course, also acted as producer on several episodes of spin off anthology series Play for Tomorrow.

Z for Zachariah received just one airing in February 1984 on a Tuesday evening at 9.35pm with the play running to just under two hours. Although no repeats were forthcoming, the play received constant exposure to a generation of British schoolchildren as O'Brien's novel formed part of the curriculum at the time, so teachers were keen to plonk pupils down in front of this for two hours of additional learning - most of the pupils who watched the play at school recall feeling depressed by the narrative, but tickled pink by the sudden bursts of nudity.

On a Hillside Desolate

The early to mid 1980s experienced somewhat of a boom in post-apocalyptic nuclear fiction what with Threads terrifying a nation, When the Wind Blows breaking everyone's hearts and Testament providing an American take on such unimaginable atrocities. And nestled away in there lies the BBC's adaptation of Z for Zachariah, a play which, to be honest, I hadn't even heard of despite my love of depressingly bleak nuclear tales and Hollywood's recent attempt at translating Robert C. O'Brien's prose into a visual affair.

As with all retro television, though, Z for Zachariah eventually came into the crosshairs of my curious target. Although a rip of the original 1984 broadcast has managed to survive the years and make it online, it's a below average rip and lacks any real sharpness. It's watchable enough on a computer screen, but I hope to dear God that a better version turns up one day - BBC, please take note that a complete Play for Today box set is somewhat of an essential despite the commercial suicide of it for yourselves, ta!


Anyway, the murkyness of the picture actually complements the feel of the play, so I guess it's not entirely negative. And what a murky, uncomfortable atmosphere Z for Zachariah produces. Sure, it's not as starkly harrowing as Threads (but what is?) and the tear jerking, tragic Britishness of When the Wind Blows is a million miles away, but the displacement of humanity from any sense of social or moral structure is laid bare.


Shielded from the disturbing realities of what's been happening outside of the valley, Ann doesn't quite bear the mental scars of death and destruction, but she still has to suffer the complete loss of her family. Her eventual acceptance that they aren't returning manifests itself nicely in one scene where Ann heads to the bathroom to collect up her family's toothbrushes and bins them with, crucially, a bunch of flowers which have withered and died. Thanks to the ecosystem of the valley, life goes on as normal as it can with Ann having to help deliver calves and tend to crops.

Loomis' appearance suddenly shatters the fragile take on normality that Ann is clinging on to and the radiation suit clad figure that treks down to the farm is a terrifying sight. A sanitised, faceless harbinger of goodness knows what, Loomis is, at first, a disturbing indicator of the new world. Removing his helmet, though, adds some humanity and his naked, joyous form splashing about in the stream hints at the hardships he's endured to celebrate such a basic act. This celebration at his apparent sanctity, however, is soon soured and sends Z for Zachariah into an even more disturbing place.


Again, unlike Threads or the graphic realities of QED: A Guide to Armageddon, the effects of radiation sickness shown in Z for Zachariah aren't quite as disturbing as those seen in other on-screen depictions of nuclear war, but Loomis suffers a relatively small dose and the need for bleeding orifices isn't necessarily essential here. Nonetheless, at the time, Anthony Andrews commented in the Radio Times that it took up to four hours in makeup to become a convincing victim and he certainly doesn't look too chipper with the accompanying hairloss and sore filled face.

Loomis' mental decline also drives Z for Zachariah and marks it out as much more of a psychological thriller than its peers. On his arrival at the farm, Loomis is a softly spoken, charming chap who is grateful to receive Ann's care and seems genuinely moved by the simple pleasure of hearing Ann play the piano. However, given the hell he describes of unfolding in Cambridge as nuclear weapons and nerve gas were deployed, it's no surprise that he appears to be suffering some form of post traumatic stress. And his mental state is eroded further by the effects of radiation sickness.

As a result, Loomis is set up as being, on the surface, a megalomaniac hellbent on controlling the valley and Ann. However, it's a mindset shaped by his surroundings and, instead, I believe Loomis is meant to represent the disturbing side effects of science's advances. And this plays in nicely with the striking dichotomny of Ann's simpler, more natural outlook on life, a purity which, ultimately, helps her to prevail without the need for tinkering with the elements of her environment too much.


Ann's 'victory' however has that feeling of being very short term though. Loomis initial musings about a colony represent the best choice of survival and his determination to rotate crops effectively represents the future. Hell isn't necessarily other people in the Z for Zachariah universe and, instead, co-existence appears to be the way forwards, but it's an existence which needs to be carefully measured. Loomis, perhaps, wants to get the country back to a level where science can once more be harnessed and this could be highly reductive given the situation it has led to.

It's all hypothetical, of course, but there are so many themes writhing around in Z for Zachariah that its purely down to the viewer to interpret.


What can't be argued about, though, is the ability of the two leads. Pippa Hinchley has a precocious talent and embodies the naive purity of Ann with a talented ease whilst Anthony Andrews shows his obvious talents with a multilayered performance which visits almost every aspect of the human psyche. And, although the play is long, Z for Zachariah never really feels as though it's outstaying its welcome despite comprising just two actors who often embark on long, dialogue free solo scenes.

Although not as iconic as other post-apocalyptic slices of fiction, Z for Zachariah provides plenty of debate and represents an intriguing branch of the genre.

Pushing Up Daisies / Coming Next

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Ah, the Great British sketch show, now there's a glorious helping of British comedy if ever there was one. Time was that they pretty much ruled the airwaves along with sitcom and, when I was a lad, you could open up a copy of the Radio Times, randomly stick a pin in and chances were it would stick into a listing for a sketch show - much to the chagrin of my Dad who prized his collection of Radio Times stacked in the garage.

However, open up a copy of the Radio Times now and, firstly, you'd be one of the few people left in Britain who still buy the magazine (the Christmas edition aside which still sells by the bucketload) and, secondly, if you were to stick a pin into it the chances of you sticking it into a sketch show would be virtually nil. Perhaps it's down to the budget friendly antics of panel shows, maybe it's down to writers concentrating on sitcoms these day. Who knows, but it's certainly a shame that there aren't more sketch shows to be found.

After all, they're a fantastic breeding ground for talent - would we have had Fawlty Towers without John Cleese's early forays into sketch shows? And, more pertinently, they can be incredibly funny - just take a look at the Ted and Ralph drinking game sketch which manages to conjure up an amazing symphony of comedy and emotion, it's almost otherworldly in its genius and it's delivered in less than three minutes.

As you can tell, I love sketch shows and, somehow, they've barely featured on Curious British Telly, so I decided to track one down that's been on my curious radar for some time. And, by the end of it, maybe we'll have a bit more evidence to decide whether the sketch show format should be Pushing up Daisies or, in fact, Coming Next.

Genre: Comedy
Channel: Channel 4
Transmission: 1984 - 85


Comprising a cast of Chris Barrie, Hale and Pace and Carla Mendonça, Pushing Up Daisies (renamed Coming Next for the second series) is a sketch show which serves up parodies, impressions, satire, songs and plenty of recurring characters and motifs. EastEnders is reimagined as WestEndersfeaturing Kensington's finest celebrating their wealth in the Schitz Cocktail Bar, Ronald Reagan delivers an address where he spells out his desire for an anti-Mexican holiday (Wop a Wop in 84) and the Two Rons discuss their latest undertaking which is a funeral parlour, they put the fun in funeral apparently.

And, of course, there are Hale and Pace's two pun obsessed friends who take on various guises and dispense pun after pun such as the tennis players ("I've got a new car that my friend Ivan Lendl me, it's good at going round Connors. I wasn't Bjorn yesterday") and the chefs ("How's Suzette? Crepe! And Olive? Oh stuff Olive!"). Chris Barrie's impressions continue with Barry Norman presenting British Film Awards 1985 ("The purpose of British Film Year is to go round telling everyone that it's British Film Year so that people will go to the cinema and watch American films. And why not?").

Carla Mendonça and Chris Barrie star as Kevin and Helen, a sickeningly soppy couple who speak to each other in sugary, saccharine drenched sentiments whilst subtitles pop up to translate what they're saying. However, all this slushly nonsense is just hiding what they really think as the subtitles reveal e.g. Helen's declaration of "Poodle woodle pudgy pom" is deciphered as "Christ, has he been drinking?" and their post-coital chat is no better with Kevin's statement of "Chimpy woozy flippity dippity" hiding the message of "I think I'm going off her".


There are also several sketches aping films such as James Bond and The Great Escape whereby the cast also communicate the script directions and character notes such as Carla Mendonca's POW Freddy popping out of an in progress escape tunnel and joyfully calling out "I'll be finished in a jiffy, skipper - said Freddy popping his head out of the tunnel - or my name's not Freddy Sex-Change No-Hampton - he turned in closeup to camera 3, Freddy Sex-Change No-Hampton was one in a million mainly due to the National Health Service waiting list".


Know it all (but painfully dozy) London cabbies discuss their mundane observations and cab philosophies, Hale and Pace become RAF fighter pilots without any experience of flying a plane due to government cuts, but are granted the luxury of using a flight simulator which turns out to be a coin operated kiddie's plane ride and we see an alternate take on Lawrence Oates "I'm just going outside" scenario where the rest of his team share out his belongings but this time he actually comes back and suffers the ignominy of his crew already wearing his socks.

And then there's about a million other sketches, but I don't have time to detail them all so, instead, let's take a look at the production side of things.

Planting the Daisies

Pushing Up Daisies and Coming Next were both produced by Paul Jackson Productions (PJP) and were part of Channel 4's output in the mid 1980s. Seven episodes of Pushing up Daisies and six episodes of Coming Next were produced and transmitted at 11pm on Saturdays. The series was never repeated and there were no commercial releases, so footage of the show is currently scarce - the videos scattered through this article come courtesy of YouTube uploads.

PJP was a fledgling company at the time, so Pushing Up Daisies was an important development for Paul Jackson and recalls that it was made possible by the connections he had garnered:

"I was running my company, PJP, and I wanted to do more with some talented new comedy performers who I had been working with on other shows. So I got together a team with Geoff Posner directing and Kim Fuller as head writer, along with Geoff Atkinson as another writer. We then sold the show to Channel 4.

Hale and Pace were actually well known on the comedy circuit and I had done a few things with them, including guest appearances on The Young Ones. Chris Barrie was also around on the circuit and had done bits for me on Carrot's Lib and Saturday Live. Carla was introduced to me by Carrot's manager. He had seen her in a college showcase and took me to see her. So I rated them all and wanted to do something more substantial with them. And they all went on to more success after Coming Next.

The recordings were great fun. It's always exciting with a new cast and we had a great team. It was also the very beginning of Indie production in the UK. And we were all setting up new careers for ourselves. It was a very special time"

Carla Mendonça remembers her time on the series as very special and it made for the perfect start to her career:

"I was playing the piano and singing in a bar during the Edinburgh Festival. Jasper Carrot and his manager came in for a drink and heard me and asked me to join them for a drink. He later got Paul Jackson to come and see me in a student production of a one-woman show I was doing. “Female Parts” by Dario Fo and Franca Rame. And this led to my connection with PJP.

I was incredibly excited to be involved with Pushing Up Daisies! I had only just finished my degree and was being given the opportunity to be in a TV sketch show.  I had also been offered a chorus part in Guys and Dolls at the National Theatre but I was advised to take the tv show. I've often wondered what path my career would have taken had I chosen the theatre job…"

As regards the name change from Pushing Up Daisies, Paul Jackson can't exactly remember why this happened, but suspects it was down to people not being particularly familiar with the saying. Coming Next was chosen as a sly stab at the cliche continuity announcement of "Coming next..."

The opening titles change between the two series as well with Pushing Up Daisies using a set of illustrated titles and an orchestra led theme tune which feel very 1970s and, in fact, made me think they would have been perfect for a long forgotten Esmonde and Larbey sitcom. Coming Next has much more 1980s titles with its blend of saxophone lines and blink-and-you'll-miss-them cast photos which flash on and off the screen with all the manic hyperactivity of a 1980s merchant banker wired on various stimulants.

The setup of the series and the quality of the cast sounds a fascinating prospect, but what was it actually like? Let's take a look...

Watching the Daisies Grow

Several people had mentioned Pushing Up Daisies to me over the years, but aside from the slim pickings on YouTube, I'd never managed to watch any of it. Having been born only two years before the series first aired, I certainly hadn't been in a position to be up and watching it at 11pm, but now, 30 and a bit years on, I was old enough to skip down to the BFI Archives to watch a few episodes.

Naturally, the cast are the absolute standouts. Chris Barrie is perhaps one of the most highly skilled comic actors of his generation and, with Arnold Rimmer and Gordon Brittas cementing this lofty status, I feel it's a massive loss to British comedy that - the Red Dwarf revists aside - he's barely dipped his toe into TV comedy since the last series of A Prince Among Men in 1998. Back here, of course, Barrie arrived on the crescendo of Spitting Image's steamrollering success and his impressions are worth the entry fee alone.

Hale and Pace, likewise, are magnificent comic actors with fantastic timing and a plethora of facial expressions to wring every last ounce of comedy out of their material. They've been unfairly maligned in terms of their quality in the last two decades - mostly by comedy snobs - but when I revisited five of their best sketches a few years back, it was clear to see see just how much of an injustice this is.

And Carla Mendonça, just entering her 20s, has that excitable air of confidence and gusto that only youth can provide, but it's also backed by a natural talent which is evidenced by the triumph of accents, timing and character work that she summons up throughout the series and has managed to maintain over the decades since.

Daily Express 10/11/1984

The material this cast have to play with is a meticulous run through everything that you can do with sketch comedy and it's a comedy palette which finds plenty of talent dipping their brush into. Geoff Atkinson and Kim Fuller are joined by such comedy luminaries as Tony Sarchet, Stephen Fry, James Hendrie and, of course, the cast who all chip in with material. As with all sketch shows, the material can be hit and miss, but once you run the figures, you find that Pushing Up Daisies is mostly hits and avoids any painful, misalignment of the viewer's attention.

The spine of the series is stiffened by the chemistry between the team and you get a real sense of the atmosphere they must have engendered on set as they slay line after line with their comic grace and skill. Mendonça certainly has fond memories of filming Pushing Up Daisies:

"I remember the luxury of having rehearsal days! Of having Monday - Thursday to work on all the sketches and then do the pre-recorded sketches (such as some of the studio songs) on the day before the big studio day. Those days were amazing. I think it was studio 1 at LWT. Huge space with all our sets in it.

We rehearsed on camera all day and then the audience came in. The warm up guys got them going (one of which was Clive Anderson!) and then we were off. I loved the evening recordings. It was kind of great if things went wrong and you had to do them again. The audience always loved that and it relaxed everyone on both sides of the studio"

Sketches are wonderful comic devices as they're essentially a microcosm of longer narrative pieces, with a clear beginning, middle and end. Mini masterpieces which are capable of comedy incisions straight into your sense of humour, they're hilarious, instantly accessible and masters of providing plenty of bang for your buck. Sure, the costs and time involved in producing such a genre are highly prohibitive in an age when advertising costs are stretched thin, but when you take a look at the talent involved in a show such as Pushing Up Daisies, you can understand why they were once greeted so warmly by an admiring public.

Pushing Up Daisies and Coming Next may not be as iconic as other sketch shows which came before or since, but they can quickly seduce you into a reverie which embodies the burgeoning, precocious careers of the cast upfront and the conviction that sketch shows are bloody good fun. Paul Jackson tells me that he believes it's just a cyclical thing and sketch shows will return - let's hope it's sooner rather than later.

Tottie

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The inanimate state that dolls find themselves in severely restricts any sense of control or ambition they may harbour. At the mercy and whims of their human owners - who are acting out their most indulgent deity fantasies - dolls are left with little option but to be forced into various poses and bizarre crossover adventures (I mean, who didn't team up their Chewbacca figure with their sister's doll?). The psychological impact of all this hullabaloo is, of course, lost on the owners for, as we all know, dolls only ever come to life and display their feelings when no humans are around.

The only indicator of a doll's happiness, therefore, is what goes on in their secret lives whilst us humans are off getting involved in the rigours of our own lives. Luckily, television has always taken a keen interest in dolls, so we've been able to garner plenty of insights into their curious mindsets. And whilst dolls can experience some absolutely stratospheric highs, they can also find themselves being passed through a mangle of psychological nightmares that proffer all manner of questions on self-worth and existentialism. Don't believe me? Just take a look at Tottie.

Genre: Children's
Channel: BBC1
Transmission: 1984 - 86


Tottie (Anna Calder-Marshall) is a small, wooden Dutch doll dating from the first half of the 19th Century who originally cost but a farthing. Fast forwarding a hundred years or so, Tottie is owned by two young girls - Emily and Charlotte Dane. Zipping back in time again, Tottie had been previously owned by Emily and Charlotte's Great Grandmother and Great Aunt who housed Tottie in a fine doll's house, but that was all a very long time ago. Nowadays, when she's not being played with by Emily and Charlotte, she's kept in a shoe box with her fellow dolls.


These dolls are an unusual and assorted mix of characters, but they're truthful and make fine friends for Tottie. Mr Plantaganet is a boy doll made from china with brown glass eyes and real hair, his original guise had been that of a Highland soldier before the bagpipes were ripped from his hands and a moustache drawn on him by his careless, cruel owners. After falling into a state of disrepair which included having his foot chewed off by a puppy, Mr Plantagnet was rescued by Emily and Charlotte who repaired him as best they could.


Mrs Plantaganet (Una Stubbs) is better known as Birdy and is a doll made from celluloid who is light and full of life. The name, Birdy, comes from her scatterbrained nature and flights of fancy she indulges in as she dances and sings her way through life with unabandoned joy. Apple (Olwen Griffiths), meanwhile, is a small, plush doll with an unapologetically childlike approach to life who has a real passion for tumbling down stairs whenever he has the chance. Whilst Apple is positioned as the Plantaganet's little boy, Darner the dog doll is the family pet made from clipped wool with a darning needle for a backbone.


Tottie and her companions lead a simple, if cold, life in their shoebox but are just grateful that Emily and Charlotte are right-minded children who look after them. Regaled with stories about the fantastic doll's house Tottie used to live in, though, the dolls soon begin to wish that they could live in such a wonderful place rather than the drafty old shoebox. And, of course, wish is all that the dolls can do for, as the narrator (Oliver Postgate) explains, "Dolls are not like people. People choose, but dolls can only be chosen".


Doll's wishes, however, can come true and, eventually, one of Emily and Charlotte's great Aunts gets in touch to tell them that she has found an old doll's house that they're free to have. It's the same house that, a hundred years previously, Tottie had lived in and the doll's are thrilled when it arrives. However, much to Tottie's horror, also arriving is Marchpane. A beautiful, china doll with real blonde hair and blue glass eyes, Marchpane is a wicked and cruel doll who despises children and believes herself superior to Tottie and Co in every way.


Attempting to adjust to life with Marchpane is made even more difficult as Marchpane - due to her superior weight - is able to wish harder and stronger than the other dolls. Covertly influencing Emily and Charlotte through the first set of adventures known as Tottie: The Story of a Doll's House, Marchpane gradually takes control of the doll's house and enslaves the rest of the dolls as her servants. Apart from Apple, who Marchpane allows to come and play in the sitting room, but only so she can take him away from his family and let him play dangerously which ultimately leads to a tragic conclusion.


With Marchpane being shipped off to a museum where she's kept under a glass dome (out of the reach of awful children), good times return to the doll's house in Tottie: The Doll's Wish. Marchpane, however, is soon back in the house and, after slapping Apple to the floor, proclaims that the house is hers again. This time, however, she has met her match in the form of Melinda Shakespeare, a china doll who is visiting the house from the USA to write a piece on Tottie for a doll's magazine.

Building the Doll's House

Based on the novels written by Rumer Godden, the two series of Tottie were produced by legendary production company Smallfilms (The Clangers, Bagpuss et al) for Goldcrest Films. The Story of a Doll's House first aired over the course of one week in 1984 with episodes going out in the 4.25pm slot on BBC1 - repeats followed in 1985, 1988 and 1991.The Doll's Wish, meanwhile, arrived on BBC1 as part of the Children's BBC schedule in 1986 where it aired on Wednesday afternoons at 3.55pm with just one repeat of the series coming in 1987.

As the series was not produced by the BBC, they chose not to keep copies of the series and, unfortunately, the master tapes of The Doll's Wish have gone missing. Thankfully, off air recordings of all the episodes have been tracked down and this has allowed The Dragons' Friendly Society to release The Doll's Wish (along with The Story of a Doll's House) on DVD. The only other merchandise relating to the TV series was a tie-in book (okay, it contained a photo of the doll's house and Tottie) of Rumer Godden's original version of The Story of a Doll's House.

Guys and Dolls

I was certainly old enough to have watched both series of Tottie during their various airings, but the memories I had were very vague. I had strong memories of Pinny's House (also produced by Smallfilms) but there was little I could remember about Tottie - however, whenever I was recollecting about Pinny's House I would often refer to it, quite mistakenly, as being called Tottie. So, I had clearly watched Tottie at some point, but it needed a much further and in-depth investigation aka watching it in bed with a cup of tea and a KitKat handy.

Oh and there was the macabre allure of one of the dolls murdering one of the other dolls.

Well, at least, that's what the legend stated. And, you know, when it's touted as being the first ever murder in a children's TV show it kind of piques your attention. But hang on, a doll murders another doll in a children's TV show? Surely not, I mean, what would Mary Whitehouse have said about that? No matter how unlikely it sounded, though, there was obviously something dark lurking in there, but we'll get back to that later.

So, getting back to the basics, let's take a look at the characters.

Tottie, herself, is the series' guiding light and regularly lays down plot strands to help the narrative unfold with measured helpings of kindness and wisdom (a quality missing from her fellow dolls who are all a little unbalanced and foolish). Mr Plantaganet is a complex soul with his slightly nervous disposition, but when you look at his backstory of abuse it's not a surprise as he appears to be suffering PTSD and this regularly surfaces as anxiety. Birdie, meanwhile, may be gay and effervescent (voiced wonderfully by Una Stubbs) but at times she appears to be suffering some severe bouts of mania. Apple, of course, is as grounded as a child can be, but his rambunctiousness is cleverly built up to execute one of the most devastating strands of Tottie.


Whilst Mr Plantaganet and Birdie are in need of a doll psychiatrist due to their mental imbalance, Marchpane is completely off the scale. Clearly, with her self-obsession and delusions, she's a bona fide narcissist, but its such an intense narcissism that when it combines with her disdain for anyone outside her breathing space, you can see the makings of a true psychopath. Marchpane is a calculating character and her cruel, wicked traits act as an important warning that beauty and privilege are by no means any indicator of truth or goodness.

Tottie has a reputation for being dark, but Marchpane is only the tip of the iceberg. In fact, perhaps the most terrifying aspect of Tottie is that the dolls, although appearing to their human owners to be inanimate, are fully conscious beings with hopes and fears, but eternally damned with a crushing sense of helplessness. Unable to convey their needs to the human world, they're continually reminded that they have no choice over their destiny; they're the silent voice, a position that almost every small child watching can identify with.


There are also strong lessons on the power of persuasion, both the positive effects and the dark, dark powers of Marchpane's wishes. The ease with which Marchpane is able overrule the other doll's wishes with her own - simply due to her superior size - again throws a spanner in the works of any glimmer of hope for the dolls. Essentially at the mercy of her whims, it's a demoralising set of circumstances and helps to contribute to the suffocating sense of dread which infects every square inch of The Story of a Doll's House.

And, of course, matters come to a head with the murder of Birdie. Except... it's not really a murder. Sure, it's quite likely that Marchpane wished for Charlotte to light the lamp in the sitting room. And, yes, Marchpane knew that the impulsive (and flammable) Apple wouldn't be able to resist its allure, but does she actually murder anyone? No, not really, Birdie bursts into the room during a particularly manic episode and, being even more flammable than Apple, goes up in a burst of blue flames. You couldn't charge Marchpane with murder though. There's some sense of premeditation about it, but I doubt any court in the land could convict her of telekinetic premeditation.


Still, The Story of a Doll's House doesn't need an actual cold blooded murder to underline its sinister credentials. From the silent suffering that Mr Plantaganet has to endure from his original owners as they strip him of all dignity (a move later repeated by Marchpane) through to Tottie's terror at being carted off to a dolls exhibition, it's a somewhat downbeat series with only the occasional shard of hope puncturing the oppressive atmosphere. And that hauntingly melodic music box theme tune by David Heneker really helps to create a foundation of fragile beauty and hope.


More upbeat is The Doll's Wish, but without that discernible air of terror hanging in the air it suffers slightly. Many of the plot strands feel trivial such as Mr Plantaganet dealing with a delivery of Valentine's cards and Charlotte's friend Tilly pines rather lacklustrely for a wax doll who featured (rather forgettably) in the first series. Only the transatlantic arrival of Melinda Shakespeare adds any feeling of excitement to the proceedings. Marchpane, of course, is back, but it's a diminished return which feels repetitive and her brand of misery and terror is much more muted this time round.


Crucially, The Doll's Wish provides a happy ending with Marchpane being banished (once more) as she suffers a fall from grace and is plagued by crippling delusions. There's also, the rather sudden romance which blossoms between Mr Plantaganet and Melinda which leads to a most bizarre wedding ceremony for the pair which is even attended by a whole host of human characters from the series. It's an unusual end to a highly unusual series, but finally it appears as though the dolls have manage to attain some sense of control over their lives.
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