When a delivery van draws up at the goods entrance of Television House, clerk Harry Boatman swings into action, opens the doors, checks in the goods, signs for them, enters them neatly in his log, informs the appropriate department and makes sure nothing gets lost until they are safely taken away to their destination.

There is a touch of military precision about the whole procedure which dates back to the days when Harry Boatman used to be a ‘regular’ in the Army – just after the start of this century. In fact, he joined the Royal Regiment of Artillery, R.H. & R.F.A., in 1905 at the age of 20, though his military career came to an abrupt end one day in October, 1914, at Strazelle [Strazeele, in northern France near the Belgian border – Ed] where he was wounded in action. Shrapnel had torn through his body and – while he was bandaged up to stop the flow of blood – a shell burst under the shield of a gun close by, ripping off the majority of his fingers as well as part of his right car.

Totally disabled, he was discharged from the Army after a spell in hospital and almost immediately joined the Civil Service as messenger and caretaker, serving among others such distinguished establishments as No. 10 Downing Street and The Treasury.

He retired from the Civil Service in 1950, aged 65, after 35 years, but only a few years later he was back at work, first with the NAAFI Bakeries and then, since 1956, with Associated-Rediffusion. At 77 he is probably the oldest member on the permanent staff of the company, and he is certainly one of the happiest. Married, with two sons and two daughters and he is not sure how many grandchildren, he lives with his wife in Merton.

Like most soldiers he treasures his memories and is justly proud of his gleaming row of medals, one of which (the DCM for distinguished conduct in the field) brings him a steady 6d. [2½p in decimal, 46p in today’s money, allowing for inflation] a day for life. He has also been awarded the BEM, and the Imperial Service Medal besides other service medals.

But Harry Boatman does not dwell in the past – he has his feet firmly planted in the present, enjoys his job and takes to it with the kind of enthusiasm that puts many a blasé youngster to shame. Maybe he only has a couple of fingers left to write with but his log book is immaculate and he would never dream of leaving his post unless there was someone to relieve him. For one thing, a driver might get into trouble for parking – which is now no longer allowed outside Television House.

Harry is a remarkably fit man. His secret? He firmly believes that there is nothing which ages a man more than the knowledge that he is no longer needed and since he is still very much in demand he feels on top of the world. Besides, being concerned in such a new and exciting 20th century venture as television, obviously helps to keep him young and active. I wondered what his wife thought of his extended working life. Would she not prefer to have him at home. ‘I am a nuisance at home’, he said with a twinkle in his eye, “my wife is glad to have me out of the way.’

Inevitably I had to enquire when he thought he would finally retire.

It was quite a joke to him.

‘When I die,’ he said without hesitation.

However, I can confidently predict that there won’t be a vacancy at the Associated-Rediffusion goods entrance in Television House for a long time to come.

The post Goods inwards looks outwards appeared first on THIS IS REDIFFUSION from Transdiffusion.

‘Associated-Rediffusion . . . Can I help you? . . . One moment please’.

A nimble hand plugs the cord firmly into one of the 500 holes, or jacks as they are called, each representing an extension and the connection is established.

Did you know that our Private Branch Exchange handles calls at the rate of 150 an hour on average?

Supervisor Dorothy Brown and a staff of 10 telephonists work in shifts from 8.30 a.m. to the end of transmission at the eight positions into which the switchboard is divided. From 8 p.m. onwards only one operator is on duty unless an unusual influx of calls is expected.

At present we are using about 65 lines but the number will be increased to more than 100 shortly which will mean less waiting for free lines and fewer engaged signals for the outside caller.

Up to 40 telegrams a day are also handled in P.B.X.

They vary greatly in destination, language, length (up to 600 words) and cost (some telegrams cost as much as £50 [£950 in today’s money, allowing for inflation – Ed]) and as each word has to be spelled out by analogy this section of P.B.X. absorbs much time.

All routine office work connected with the running of the exchange, such as the issue of tickets for trunk calls, book keeping and checking figures with accounts department, is also done by the telephonists themselves.

The board indicators also have to be kept up to date continuously. They show where members of the staff can be contacted if out of their offices, where rehearsals are taking place and which teams are connected with them.

Many of the P.B.X. staff have been with the company since its embryonic beginnings. They will never forget those chaotic days when we first moved to Television House while the workmen still had very much the upper hand. The rusty old Air Ministry switchboard, relegated to a state of comfortable disintegration, had to be coaxed back into unaccustomed activity. This was no mean feat as some of the cords were completely useless and the rest were stiff and unmanageable.

On top of this, manual working was the rule. To the uninitiated this means that every local call had to be connected instead of members of the staff dialling their own numbers. The noise of the workmen frequently drowned the voices at the other end of the line and, as the switchboard had to be shared with ATV, a mild state of confusion was unavoidable.

To add to the telephonists’ trials and tribulations in those days, there was no internal telephone directory so it was left to their individual ingenuity and Supt. Lockhart qualities to find out where to contact the people concerned and to track them down in offices or studios, at rehearsals and committee meetings.

Those were the primitive days of hurricane lamps which had to be pumped up periodically and of walks down to Kingsway station in the interest of sanitation – the days which for some inexplicable reason, despite discomforts, none of us would have missed.

Among those who recall them in P.B.X. are:

Mrs Dorothy Brown, the supervisor, who has a son of 20 and likes to get away to her country refuge in Suffolk whenever she gets a chance. Apart from outdoor life she is very fond of opera and the ballet.

Mrs Phyllis Laycock, head telephonist, who has a boy of 15 and girl of 13 and likes to play bridge.

Mrs Ziska Branford, whose hobbies arc dancing and the theatre; Miss Barbara Knight, who loves driving and painting; Mrs Doreen Osborn, married to Ikon Osborn, one of our film camera men which accounts for her hobby: photography; Mrs Eve Tickner, who is fond of riding and Mrs Margaret Baston, mother of a 15-year-old daughter.

A very popular member of the P.B.X. staff is Pat Pullen, who lost her husband some years ago and joined the company in 1957 to help bring up her three children now aged 9, 11 and 13, and who still manages to do her own dressmaking and interior decorating.

Mrs Grace Roberts is the only grandmother in the room and a very modern one at that since she is fond of fencing and motoring.

To round off the galaxy of Associated-Rediffusion telephonists there is Winnie Perkins, mother of two teenage children, Anita Milligan who loves to watch wrestling, Pat Brazier, an ex-Queen Mary telephonist and Margaret Head who has the most appropriate hobby of all: watching TV.

Altogether they are a happy team. None of the staff has ever left for any lesser reason than to emigrate or to have babies.

The operator’s job is a thankless one for her unobtrusive efficiency is usually taken for granted while the slightest delay or – heaven forbid – a wrong connection brings her immediately into the foreground with frayed tempers and impatient criticism.

Because she does not directly contribute to any of the company’s activities the telephonist is also often placed on a somewhat lower level of importance, unfairly so, of course, since none of us could do without her and she can rightly claim to have – literally and metaphorically speaking – a hand in everything.

In addition to ordinary business calls, our P.B.X. acts as an overflow for the Duty Officer and handles many viewers’ calls, usually a comment of some sort on one of the programmes or performers, and ranging from the highest possible praise to the lowest possible abuse. Typical complaints we get from people who are apparently oblivious of the most obvious alternative at their disposal:

‘This programme was utter tripe, I demand to speak to the General Manager’. ‘My children have ruined my furniture and carpet with buckets of water and flour after seeing your slapstick comedy show!’ ‘I distinctly saw a shadow on the newscaster’s upper lip, surely he is not thinking of growing a moustache?’

Discretion, diplomacy and a good sense of humour arc high up on the list of essential requirements for all our telephonists when it comes to sorting out the constructive criticism type of complaint from the trivial, ignorant or abusive. Serious, controversial programmes generally provoke a flood of calls from viewers with strong views on the subject.

Some callers are unmistakably the worse for drink. There is a woman who rings up regularly after ‘Cool for Cats’ asking to speak to Kent Walton. There is even the occasional crank to contend with and sometimes a flood of obscene language, but our operators take it all in their stride.

Children ring up frequently to discuss some programme detail or to ask to speak to their favourite heroes such as William Tell or Robin Hood. It is not uncommon for them to sing advertising jingles to the telephone operator.

Once an obviously very young viewer asked if she could speak to Pussy Cat Willum. The operator could not get a reply from the department concerned so, rather than disappoint the child, she put on a most convincing imitation of Pussy Cat Willum much to the delight of the little girl and – I should imagine – to the astonishment of anyone unsuspectingly entering P.B.X. at the time.

What about us, I asked. How do we rate as individual subscribers in P.B.X.? Well, the telephonists’ long service record indicates that we must at least be tolerable and they had a lot of encouraging things to say about us generally but, just in case you want to brush up your ‘phone-side’ manner’, here is the expert’s idea of the perfect subscriber.

He, or she, is . . .

Considerate: He always tells P.B.X. when he moves his office, changes his extension, engages new staff.

Patient: He takes delays in his stride, taps only twice when he wants a call transferred and if he does not get an answer from the switchboard right away he does not immediately conclude that the telephonists have all conspired against him or are taking a crafty nap.

Tolerant: If he gets cut off accidentally he does not blow his top. (Incidentally, women are more temperamental than men when this happens.)

Polite: He is respectful and treats the operator as a helpmate without claiming to have a monopoly on her services. He is appreciative and does not always disguise it.

Well, what do you think your chances are to win the Associated-Rediffusion Oscar for the most considerate subscriber?

The post Nimble hands and a sense of humour appeared first on THIS IS REDIFFUSION from Transdiffusion.

The basement of a business establishment compares, of course, unfavourably with the domestic cellar. It lacks the latter’s cosy intimacy, there are no dust-covered souvenirs with memories of the past, and the chance of finding a hidden treasure is about as remote as that of finding water lilies in the desert.

Nevertheless, when the Editor of Fusion asked me to write about Associated-Rediffusion’s ‘basic’ activities I was more than usually ready to oblige, and if you have so far lacked the time or the excuse to go exploring down below, perhaps you’d care to join my conducted tour.

It could be said that both the beginning and the end of Television House are to be found below the level of Kingsway, since its basement floor contains both the first essentials of its elaborate household (supply of water, heat, light) and the very last stage of its function in the transmission of programmes from the two studios. Perhaps the best place to start and get warmed up is the BOILERHOUSE which is approached by a special entrance and a steep stone staircase, so narrow that only boilermen with the lean and hungry look, totally disinclined to obesity can possibly be considered for the job.

The enormous size of the boilerhouse is likely to surprise those who vaguely visualised an enlarged version of the domestic boiler supplying TV House with heat and hot water. There are in fact no fewer than four boilers, three of them so huge that ladders have to be used to reach the top shutters. Two of these are in constant use day and night during the winter to supply our central heating, while the third one is cleaned and kept in readiness for use in case of breakdown in any of the others.

Electric pumps drive the water heated by these boilers into the radiators throughout the building and special booster pumps operate to reach the top storeys.

The fourth boiler, a slightly smaller oil combustion unit, supplies our domestic hot water.

In addition the boilerhouse contains cold and hot water tanks (chlorifyers) the height of an average room and diameters to match, as well as spare pumps in case of break downs, but the most predominant feature is the network of pipes of all sizes up to a foot in diameter, painted in vivid red (for central heating) and green (for domestic water).

They add a touch of unexpected gaiety to the spotless place, while the familiar roar from the fire in the boilers makes you feel quite drowsy….

The boilermen, Mr Coleman, Mr Jones and Mr Poole, who work in day and night shifts on a rota system are also responsible for our impressive VENTILATION PLANT ROOM where air is sucked into the building by a Plenum fan, driven through ventilating shafts and filtered through a panel of water sprays before it is allowed to disperse into the building.

The sprays can be seen in action through large glass panels and the dirt particles collecting in the side tanks are proof of the effectiveness of the filtering process. Stale air is ejected from the building by means of extractor fans.

From the ventilation plant room we also operate a secondary (warm air) heating system, which is supplementary to the central heating for exceptionally cold days.

Twice a day the boilerman on duty takes thermometer readings in all areas from the basement to the roof of TV House. This is not as exhausting as it sounds, since he has at his disposal an up-to-date thermo control unit in the ventilation plant room, and he merely has to move the hand on the dial to whichever area of TV House he wants to check and jot down the temperatures indicated. Outside temperatures are also taken twice a day. These readings govern the setting of the thermostats on the automatic central heating boilers.

Next we come to the domain of Victor O’Brien and his staff of three electricians, Reg Turner, T. Hurley and Peter van Hamme. Usually behind well-locked doors I was allowed to take an ‘Unauthorised Persons’ view of the MAIN SWITCH ROOM which is about 10ft wide and 30ft long and houses the Siemens Supply Company intakes, control box, fuse boxes and long rows of master switches controlling the supply of power to the various areas of TV House.

The main supply to the technical area is fed via the Diesel Control Unit. This unit has two sets of contactors which feed the distribution buzz-bars, one for the London Electricity Board main supplies and the other for supply from Stand-by Diesel.

Should a fire break out in the main switch room -where water cannot be used, the heat will melt the soldered links which in turn causes a chemical solution (CO₂) to be released and automatically ejected into the room to extinguish the fire.

The Stand-by Diesel is housed in what looks very much like a ship’s engine-room complete with vertical metal stairs and the pungent smell of oil, a large Diesel AC Alternator stands ready to cut in automatically in an emergency rather like an understudy waiting in the wings for her chance to take over when the star falls ill.

Only once – two years ago – did the stand-by diesel fail to cut in during a power breakdown and on investigation it was found that a workman who was cementing the switchroom floor had unwittingly touched the tripswitch which is permanently set to bring in the emergency supply.

The electricians put matters right and viewers got their picture back. The guilty workman protested: ‘All I did was this…’ He demonstrated and TV sets went blank again.

A little farther down some pipe-lined corridors I encountered the headquarters of the MAINTENANCE DEPARTMENT which comes under the jurisdiction of Mr Hurley and Mr Chater. It is an enlarged version of the domestic workshop crowded with tins of paint, cans of turps, brushes, tools of all descriptions and broken items of furniture waiting to be mended.

A team of two carpenters, Stan Cracknell and Tom Sanderson, who are the handymen around the house, attend to all minor casualties such as broken window sashes, locks which won’t open, drawers which won’t shut, chairs with missing legs, in fact anything that crops up, while the two painters, Arthur Thompson and Bernard Anns, are permanently engaged in brightening up the place with fresh coats of paint, a job which is never done because by the time they’re through, it’s time to start anew.

A few years ago a minor flood disaster hit the basement of TV House of which we in the upper storeys were blissfully unaware. It was caused by ITN film cuttings being washed down and blocking the waste pipes, with the unpleasant result that waste water mixed with a dark photographic chemical solution came up through the drains from underneath, covering the whole of the basement floor and causing considerable damage.

THE CARPENTER’S SHOP is just round the corner and we briefly call on Phil Holder, our master carpenter, who shows us round the SCENE DOCK where hired scenery is stored in readiness for imminent transmissions. A special hoist with a capacity of 25 tons was built at the back of the garage to transport the often cumbersome items of scenery from the delivery van into the basement scene dock.

Phil and his assistants are responsible for checking in each item, making any necessary adjustments or alterations, fitting and setting up scenery in time for camera rehearsal and for returning everything intact to the hire firm.

But bare scenery is not enough. Props of all kinds and descriptions are needed to give realistic and authentic backgrounds to the programmes. That is where Frank Newson and his five prop men come in. They have just about everything, including the kitchen sink, stored in the five prop rooms at their disposal.

The ARCHIVES, more than any other part of the basement, resemble the traditional cellar in as much as they are used for storage of documents which have long outlived their usefulness. The shelves are laden with out-dated correspondence, files and scripts which have had their moment of glory a long time ago.

Also stationed in the basement are the FILM CAMERA AND SOUND CREWS. They are headed by Ted Lloyd, the senior film cameraman, who discusses filming projects and difficulties with the directors concerned, and Dave Davies who fills in the inevitable forms and is responsible for correct camera allocation.

Among the camera men who have been with the company a number of years are Adrian Cooper, Ricky Briggs, Gilbert Knight, Harry Hart and Ron Osborn, and on the sound crew side we have mixers Stan Clark, Basil Rootes, Bill Welch and Don Alton.

An interesting character attached to the film camera crews is Ernie Beard, the only grip in the company. To the uninitiated the grip is the chap who pushes the dolly or operates the crane on which camera equipment is mounted and if you think there isn’t much to it then you ought to have seen Ernie operate the 40-ft crane for the film shots at the opening of Studio 5 when he had no less than three men on the front and a big camera and 4 tons of weights on the back to balance and manoeuvre about.

Last, but not least, there is the area more directly concerned with the transmission of programmes, the rehearsal rooms, the wardrobe department (where Phillis Crisp makes last minute costume alterations), the rows of makeup and dressing rooms, and finally the studios where the perennial first night atmosphere reaches its climax every time we are on the air.

You’d have to go a long way to find another basement quite like it.

The post Down in the basement… appeared first on THIS IS REDIFFUSION from Transdiffusion.

From Fusion 31, published August 1963

Stella’s work now involved being production manager, production secretary, bringing on the prizes, sweeping the stage, making the props (she makes a special good line in custard pies) and acting as general liaison between the clients, agencies and the production company.

Five years of this and another turning point in Stella’s career came. The time – 1955, the scene: a party given by some BBC sound boys on the occasion of their leaving the BBC to join Associated-Rediffusion. The cast: Daphne Shadwell and Lloyd Williams, who had already joined the company, and Stella, the plot: Lloyd Williams refuses to release his assistant Daphne Shadwell to become a trainee director until she has found a replacement for herself. Stella seems a likely prospect and Daphne proceeds with some inspired hard sell. A few minutes’ conversation with Lloyd Williams and the deal is made. Stella agrees to start in a month’s time, in fact it turned out to be the very first day Associated-Rediffusion moved to Television House. She has never looked back since.

Stella Ashley’s career with the company has been quite a remarkable one, at least for a woman.

At first she worked for 18 months as Lloyd Williams’ P.A. which entailed office work during the day and rushing down to Studio 7 or 8 for productions such as ‘Visitor of the Day’ – twice a week, then, after another spell of routine, back to the studio for ‘And so to Bed’. A spell as manager of outside broadcasts followed (it was rather an innovation for a woman to do this job) – back to Ll.W. first as his personal assistant, and then, when he was made director of production, she became manager of the production section, a post she held for about four and a half years. Now – since Ll.W. left the company a year ago she has been working as manager, quiz programmes – completing the circle of her experiences back to the audience participation shows in which she first started. (Minus custard pies, of course.)

Listening to Stella in my office it seemed hard to believe that she had already devoted some 20 odd years of her life to show business. Moreover, her achievements, her wealth of experience, her executive position, appear to be in complete contrast to the quiet, unassuming person I found her to be.

Soft spoken, with a warm and ready smile, she soon dispels one’s inevitable image of the orthodox career woman determinedly asserting herself in a man’s world. ‘I never found being a woman a handicap in my job’, she said, ‘On the contrary – I feel in many instances it has been a great help’. Analysing this statement we decided that the reasons were obvious; a woman is far better in matters of diplomacy and her power of intuition is the envy of every man. Maybe it is looked down upon by the pure logic addicts but – as every punter will agree – the right kind of intuition is worth more than the biggest pile of form books.

The post Accountants, orchestras and Stella Ashley appeared first on THIS IS REDIFFUSION from Transdiffusion.