The first Associated Rediffusion authority announcement, and thus ITV’s very first announcement of any kind.

Noticeable is how the pattern for announcements had not yet been set. A slogan – This is London – gets a look in, but the ITA do not.

The channel gets a mention, but so does the VHF band. Also missing is the word ‘weekdays’ – a word that was not available in English at the time, so the rather longer circumlocution “every week from Monday to Friday” has to be used.

Complete audio for the station’s evening start-up, from which the above excerpt is taken. It begins with variations on the traditional tune British Grenadiers and includes a fanfare by Charles Williams, closing with an excerpt from Elgar’s Cockaigne overture.

Using the same script as the above, the voiceover here is spoken by a female announcer, probably Muriel Young (or possibly Shirley Butler). The opening music is from the Prelude to Richard Addinsell’s orchestral suite based on his music for the 1945 David Lean film Blithe Spirit. This startup was probably used to open afternoon transmissions, but only for a brief period immediately after broadcasts began in September 1955.

A year later, and the announcement has been significantly simplified: the Independent Television Authority receives what is by now its required mention. This announcement preceded Eric Coates’ Music Everywhere, used September 1956 to late 1957.

Another year further on, and the pattern of authority announcements is now set. A-R complies with Redvers Kyle – one of the quintessential voices of ITV – reading an announcement that provides everything the ITA could want. Gone now is the ident in the middle of the announcement, and also – in fallout from the Suez crisis – the some might say militaristic tune that accompanied the first announcement. Instead, this announcement was accompanied by S. Bates’ Associated-Rediffusion March, used from 1958-64.

Several years later, Redvers Kyle (for once again, it is he) adopts the ‘voice of god’ tones of Mitchell for the final version of the announcement.

The whole look of the station has been lightened, the name simplified and the heavy music of the past changed for The Widespread World of Rediffusion, a Dankworth piece which has never dated (except, perhaps, for the ‘summer holidays’ middle) and gives a thrill of anticipation as it builds to a climax.

The Swinging Ident

1964, and a relaunch of station identity – in order to compete effectively with the new BBC-2 – brought A-R firmly into the 1960s and saw the London weekday ITV service itself renamed ‘Rediffusion, London’.

The adastral rotated anticlockwise constantly, unlike the ‘clockwise then stop’ of the A-R idents.

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One thing must be said immediately. In 365 days’ time, Independent Television – if all goes well – will have been with us for a year. So far, it has been with us for a bare hand-count of hours, and although the conclusions are crying to be jumped to, the temptation to jump must be resisted. The broader judgment must wait until the end of the year – or, say, until the middle of next week.

Speaking empirically, then, what wonders did we see last night? The first was a black cross on a white ground which, accompanied by a high-pitched scream, persisted for some minutes. This vanished and was followed by a card bearing the legend. “Opening Night Independent Television Service Channel 9.” Then the familiar tones of Mr. Leslie Mitchell, who nineteen years ago spoke the very same words at the inauguration of the B.B.C. Television Service, declared: “This is London.”

It was indeed. Historic scene succeeded historic scene as Mr. Mitchell, [A mistake here: it was actually Cecil Lewis, A-R’s deputy controller – Ed.] with scarcely a tremor in his voice, intoned a commentary which appeared at times to be in verse (“A new city would have been built, had Wren but had his way”). With a last quick word about the history so far and future of the Independent Television Service, Mr. Mitchell passed us over to Guildhall, where Mr. John Connell was waiting to introduce the guests at the inaugural banquet.

The first guest was Pitt the Younger, looking down from his niche in unmixed astonishment. Pitt was followed by Gog and Magog, and these by the Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress, Lord and Lady Kilmuir, Dr. Charles Hill (Mr. Connell’s voice sank to a reverent whisper), the Bishop of London, Sir Kenneth Clark, and Mr. Norman Collins, looking as if London did indeed, this night, belong to him.

When the guests were met it was the turn of Sir John Barbirolli and the Hallé Orchestra. Sir John, who looked so composed that he could hardly have heard of Sir Thomas Beecham’s exclusive agreement with the Manchester programme contractor, led the Hallé through Elgar’s “Cockaigne” Overture.

Then came the speeches. The Lord Mayor, in admirably clear close-up, looked nervous, spoke up, and sat down within four minutes. Dr. Hill followed him, looking and sounding, as one would expect, pugnacious. “An immensely powerful and ever-growing medium” was what he called television, and insisted that it was here to stay. Adding that man was many-sided, he wished the I.T.A. well and came to an end.

Then it was the turn of Sir Kenneth Clark (his were the first eyes of the evening to look directly into the camera). For Sir Kenneth, too, the picture was wonderfully clear, as he told us that television had a terrifying power for good and evil, paid tribute to Lord De La Warr, and came to a graceful close exactly at the advertised time.

Over now to “Channel 9” for variety, opening with a huge smile from Mr. Jack Jackson, who proceeded to shut Mr. Hughie Green into a soundproof box. On the whole, the variety show which followed was well up (or some would say down) to B.B.C. standards. But the producers clearly believed in stimulating appetites rather than satisfying them. “A smile, a song, and a cigar” was about all some of the artists had time for.

At ten minutes past eight came – and it came as a surprise – the first advertisement of the new service. A charming young lady brushed her teeth, while a charming young gentleman told us of the benefits of the toothpaste with which she was doing it.

Variety came to an end, and it was drama’s turn. Mr. Robert Morley, his startled-goldfish expression well to the fore and his magnificent eyebrows semaphoring vigorously, told us in a few homely words how surprised he was that Independent Television had ever appeared at all. But now it was here he was clearly going to make the best of it. And the best, for this evening at any rate, was to be the proposal and interrogation scenes from The Importance of Being Earnest. (This of course had already been recorded on film, and one watched with interest to see how it compared with the “live” broadcasts we had already watched. It compared very well.)

Sir John Gielgud proposed very charmingly to his Gwendoline (Miss Margaret Leighton), but it was Dame Edith Evans as Lady Bracknell that he was clearly waiting for – and so, indeed, were we. Nor were we disappointed. It is many years since Dame Edith played Lady Bracknell (that film hardly counts), and she was clearly determined to make up for loss of time. She roared her battle-cry – “A handbag?” – like an indignant foghorn telling its mate that it had just been insulted, and the rest of her magnificent performance was pitched in the same key. The film around her, in so far as one was conscious of it, was admirably, indeed beautifully, composed.

It was the boxing that showed us for the first time in the evening the I.T.A. avoiding a major B.B.C. fault. How often we have been infuriated by a description of something we could perfectly well see for ourselves. There is no need to mention names here, except that of Mr. Richard Dimbleby, but anybody who has ever watched, say, a sporting programme on B.B.C. television will be able to add half a dozen. But Mr. Len Harvey and Mr. Tony Van den Bergh confined themselves almost entirely to inter-round summaries – Mr. Harvey sounding infinitely wistful at finding himself outside a boxing ring – and let the cameramen tell the story for us.

With the hair-trigger timing that characterised all the programmes of the evening, the boxing finished (not, alas, for those who must have drama in everything, with a knock-out), and it was time, after some more advertisements, for the news. I surely cannot be the first to have made a joke about Mr. Christopher Chataway and a running commentary? But for Mr. Chataway it was clearly no joke. Sitting in a dark lounge suit, and obviously too worried to smile, he followed Mr. Aidan Crawley’s introduction with four and a half minutes of news.

After the labouring in the field, came the feast. The cameras, to end the evening, looked in at the party in the May Fair Hotel, where appropriately enough our compere was Mr. Leslie Mitchell, whose voice had ushered in the new era all those hours ago. (Only three? Impossible!) Everybody looked happy, calm, and carefree. And on the whole, and with reservations, and other things being equal, well they might be.

So far, then, what we have seen of Independent Television has certainly not confirmed the worst fears (or hopes?) of its enemies. Television, Sir Kenneth Clark reminded us earlier in the evening, has a terrifying power for good or evil; speaking subjectively, I feel neither uplifted nor depraved by what I have seen. But perhaps the deeper moral effects will make themselves felt only over a period of years.

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Viewers saw a tuning signal in the form of a cross, accompanied by tone. This was followed by a card bearing the legend. “Opening Night Independent Television Service Channel 9,” over which viewers heard a piece of music consisting of variations on the traditional tune ‘British Grenadiers’, building slowly to a climax.

Leslie Mitchell, the former voice of the BBC Television Service, announced for the first time, ‘This is London.’ A fanfare by Charles Williams was heard as Associated-Rediffusion’s Adastral logo, with the company name and channel number beneath, formed up for the first time.

Mitchell went on, ‘This is Channel Nine, on Band III, which brings you programmes by Associated-Rediffusion, every week, from Monday to Friday.’ He was followed by an excerpt from Sir Edward Elgar’s ‘Cockaigne Overture – In London Town’. The station clock reached 7:15 pm – and Independent Television was on the air.

Then followed a short film, with voiceover by Associated-Rediffusion’s Deputy Controller, Cecil Lewis, telling the history of London – and of broadcasting itself, the pictures showing images of London, brief shots of Marconi and Alexandra Palace, Television House under reconstruction, and ultimately the face of the Guildhall with its Latin inscription, “Domine, dirige nos!”.

Lewis, on film, called the A-R outside broadcast staff to readiness, and ‘handed over’ to the live coverage, which focused initially on the guests filling their seats in the Guildhall.

The Hallé orchestra, conducted by Sir John Barbirolli, played Elgar’s overture live, in its entirety, followed by the National Anthem. And at 7.45pm, the speeches began, regarded by some commentators (notably the Daily Mirror the next morning) as the low point of the evening.

The Lord Mayor of London, the Postmaster-General Sir Charles Hill and Sir Kenneth of the ITA all said their pieces, and finally things livened up as control was handed over to the then-ABC at the Wood Green Empire for a variety show, “Channel Nine”, produced by Bill Ward, formerly of the BBC and later to become a major executive producer of ITV sports programmes.

There were drama sketches. A boxing match. Four-minute-miler Chris Chataway read the first news from ITN in record time, which included coverage of the trial of Jack Spot at the Old Bailey – another first in British broadcasting history. Live coverage of the opening night party, “Gala Night at the May Fair” featured Leslie Mitchell and Shirley Butler talking to attendees including Pat Weaver, head of NBC, who called the opening “fantastic”. At 11.05,Independent Television closed down with a solemn prayer.

A-R management – and in particular Roland Gillett, the company’s first Controller of Programmes – breathed a sigh of relief. All had gone to plan. The country’s first television advert – for Gibbs SR toothpaste – aired (complete with countdown – oops), and the night was a success. Previously A-R and ATV had agreed to give the proceeds from the evening’s commercials to charity. All that remained was to tot up the figures for this successful night.

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