‘It’s lucky I wrote my biography in 1959,’ said Eric Maschwitz. ‘Now I can use it as a reference book whenever I want to remember something.’

He added: ‘You know, the one fact that I needed recently that wasn’t in it was the date of my second marriage. Neither my wife nor I could remember it, and in the end we had to prise her wedding ring off and look at the inscription. Now we’ve found out the date, we can celebrate it.’

At 65, Eric Maschwitz, executive producer special projects, is endearingly mild, humorous and vague. His eye for a pretty girl is as keen as ever it was when he ‘launched’ Jean Carson in ‘Love from Judy’, the West End musical. His career, which appears to have been as undisciplined as a Mongolian lamb rug and as colourful as a Persian carpet, has provided him with an unending stream of amusing stories. He sheds anecdotes among his listeners as easily as other people scatter crumbs to pigeons.

He is the writer of several musicals and more than 300 lyrics, including ‘These Foolish Things’ and ‘A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square’. (‘I feel a great joy whenever I hear them being played at the thought that they’re still earning me money,’ he says). As director of variety for BBC sound, he originated ‘In Town Tonight’, still going strong. In Hollywood he wrote the screen version of ‘Goodbye, Mr. Chips’. In his five years as head of BBC television’s light entertainment from 1958, he started up ‘The Black and White Minstrel Show’, ‘Juke Box Jury’, ‘Compact’, ‘Steptoe’ and many other series.

Joining Rediffusion in 1963 ‘at the request of my old friend John McMillan’, his first production was ‘Our Man at St. Mark’s’.

Later he brought Stella Richman into the company and with Cyril Coke devised ‘The Rat Catchers’.

Moreover, this brief outline mentions nothing of his exciting wartime career – during which a certain Major John McMillan was under his command – nor of his two marriages, the first to comedy star Hermione Gingold.

With a man like this, where does one begin when asked, as I have been by the editor of Fusion, to write a ‘short profile’?

In fact, I began by reading Eric’s autobiography, published in 1959, and called ‘No Chip on my Shoulder’. It is a fascinating book crammed with well-known names, entertaining stories and, incidentally, too many exclamation marks!

It seemed that the best way to give readers an idea of the adventures in Eric’s life would be to print – with his permission – some extracts from the book, along with a potted biography. Born in Birmingham, Eric went to Repton School with a classical scholarship, then to Caius College, Cambridge, where he read modern languages. At Repton he wrote his first lyrics for a school operetta and at Cambridge he became a ‘leading lady’, playing Vittoria Corombona in ‘The White Divel’ for the Marlowe Society.

After this he tried several careers-journalist, novelist, repertory actor, peanut vendor in a french travelling circus, waiter in a French café, and principal of a correspondence course in short-story writing. During this time – he packed a lot into five years – he married Hermione Gingold.

When he was literally down to his last pair of shoes – dancing shoes – Eric joined the BBC at Savoy Hill, where for six months his job as assistant director of outside broadcasting brought him in £300 a year [£15,500 in today’s money, allowing for inflation – Ed]. Specialisation seems to have been unheard of then and he mucked in on everything from writing to broadcasting himself.

From this, he became editor of the ‘Radio Times’, one of his assistants being Val Gielgud. In his seven years as editor he found time to take up writing for radio drama, beginning with an adaptation of Compton Mackenzie’s novel ‘Carnival’, for which, in spite of many revivals, he never received a penny extra.

Soon after this he was introduced to George Posford, a jazz enthusiast who had graduated from the Royal College of Music, and together they wrote ‘Good Night, Vienna’, for the radio. Film rights were bought by Herbert Wilcox for a mere £200 [£12,000], and it was made into one of the first ‘talkies’ in this country, with Jack Buchanan and Anna Neagle starring.

In 1933, Eric Maschwitz was offered the post of variety director for the BBC with the job of doubling the output of ‘light’ programmes. ‘In Town Tonight’ was thought up by him as a means for filling one of the ‘peak’ hours – 6.30 pm on Saturday.

‘With a little fast talking I got the title accepted by the planners, though I had in truth only the sketchiest notion as to what form the feature would eventually take,’ he recalls. ‘There was no script until on the morning of the first performance I sat down at the typewriter and hastily thought up “the roar of London’s traffic” and the flower-girl murmuring “sweet violets”to be interrupted by the stentorian shout of “Stop”.’

The words for ‘These Foolish Things’ were written one Sunday morning when Eric, pyjama-clad, unshaven and suffering from lack of rest, was sipping coffee and vodka.

By lunchtime the words had been dictated over the telephone to Jack Strachey, and that evening a melody had been composed.

‘I was, I must shyly confess, bitterly disappointed in it,’ reveals Eric. ‘Nor did Jack care for the title; he wanted to call the song “These Little Things”.’

Surprisingly, the song aroused no special interest. ‘No publisher would oblige (even the firm of Keith Prowse, to which I was under contract at the time, gladly gave me a letter releasing it). We put it into a West End revue; still it failed to set the musical Thames on fire.’ However, one day Leslie Hutchinson (‘Hutch’), the West Indian singer, found the manuscript on top of Eric’s office piano, played it, liked it and recorded it. The song was an immediate success, and so was Eric. He was interviewed in New York, in his column Walter Winchell reproduced the lyrics in full, and ‘the pretty ladies with whom I danced wanted alas! no more of me than that I should breathe those lyrics into their shell-like ears!’ The song has earned Eric altogether more than £30,000 [£480,000], he estimates.

Two amusing tales from his days as variety director point up Eric’s inventiveness. Asked to be the commentator for the arrival of Amy Johnson, on her return from her recordbreaking flight to Australia, Eric was faced with 40 empty minutes, because the aeroplane was delayed. ‘I filled up the time by giving the listeners a Short History of Flying, taken from a sixpenny booklet which somebody had thoughtfully purchased from the airport bookstall!’

On the night of the Jubilee Ball from the Albert Hall, the BBC had ‘elected to broadcast the first half-hour of just the sort of occasion at which the majority of the guests arrive late’. When Eric got to the hall it was completely empty, except for the orchestra. He could find no trace of the OB official who was supposed to be in charge. So, with the broadcast ‘hooked up’ to all parts of the Empire, something had to be done. ‘As the red light began to blink, I gathered together the waiters who had been hanging around the edges of the floor and made them waltz with each other so that we might have at least the sound of dancing feet.’ The orchestra played and Eric drew upon his considerable imagination to describe a vivid scene of princes, potentates and famous beauties arriving at the ball.

Even the award to Eric of the OBE in recognition of his services to broadcasting, was not quite straightforward. For although he was in one of the first Honours Lists after the death of King George V, he did not actually receive his decoration until after the Abdication. The document starts, therefore: ‘We Edward the Eighth etc.’ At the investiture, Eric, having neglected to wear gloves, had to borrow a cotton pair ‘slightly disfigured by iron-mould’ from one of the Royal Servants. But he was elated when the King, with whom 17 years before he had made up a four at tennis a few times, remarked: ‘It seems a long time since we used to play tennis together at Cambridge!’ Returning from the Palace, Eric learned that the musical spectacular play ‘Balalaika’, which he had written and produced, had been bought by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer for a six-figure sum. This led to an offer of a writing contract with the company, and in 1937 Eric joined the Hollywood studios at £350 a week [£20,000].

In spite of the money, the climate, and a Mexican-style bungalow in Beverly Hills, in spite of parties galore, Eric was dissatisfied. There was no work for him to do. Although he had been engaged primarily to work on the screen version of ‘Balalaika’, three other writers were assigned to it instead. (The result of their work Eric describes as ‘a piece of cheese’, but adds ‘it made a fortune’).

He decided to return to London. ‘So far the studio had paid me over $30,000 for doing almost precisely nothing; only madmen, I thought, would wish to keep me there any longer.’ But the studios, he found, liked to keep talent in reserve, and it was not so easy to escape. When he became really restless, he was asked to re-write someone else’s screen version of ‘Goodbye, Mr. Chips’. This he did, enjoying the work, but trying nevertheless to complete it by the time his six months’ contract expired, and before his option could be renewed. He managed it – with a few hours to spare.

When the 1939 war came, Eric volunteered, and eventually found himself with M.I.6, working from a suite in the Adelphi Hotel, Liverpool.

‘Our “cover” in the hotel was that my colleagues were interested in the production of a new revue of which I was to be the writer; to lend colour to this perhaps improbable story they gave one theatrical party after another. To add plausibility to the set-up I actually began to write a revue.’ The result was the hit show ‘New Faces’ in which Judy Campbell introduced ‘A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square’ to a delighted audience.

At a later stage in the war he was appointed liaison officer between the War Office and Broadcasting House to ensure that radio programmes heard by the troops were morale-boosting.

Eric’s book tells of many of his other wartime exploits – which included a period in New York with the military staff of ‘British Security Co-ordination’ and a mission to Lisbon, as well as the production of several more musicals. He also, while in the Broadcasting Section of Army Welfare, devised a scheme for making recorded programmes in London and shipping them out to stations overseas to be heard by British troops.

This brought into existence the ORBS (Overseas Recorded Broadcasting Service) in which the Navy and the Air Force also helped.

It was while with the Psychological Warfare Branch of SHAEF [Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Force] that Eric obtained a divorce and married Phyllis Gordon, his present wife, a girl he had known for 10 years. Eric, as a lieutenant-colonel, renewed a prewar acquaintance with John McMillan when he took charge of broadcasting for the War Office.

‘My new job was a very interesting one. With the armies as they fought their way towards Germany went three mobile radio-transmitters from which programmes were broadcast to the troops. This Field Broadcasting Unit was under the command of Major “Johnny” McMillan, a taciturn, poker-faced Australian whom I had known as a producer for commercial radio before the war. He ruled a rather turbulent assembly of broadcasters and technicians with a rod of iron.’

As part of his task of setting up a British Forces Network in Germany – it was obvious that the enemy would soon surrender and entertainment was needed for British troops who would no longer be occupied with fighting – he drove with John McMillan into Hamburg. There they requisitioned the Musikhalle, a vast concert hall, as a new headquarters. A transmitter was taken over at Norden; an entire staff of German technicians recruited; and ‘within a few days the admirable McMillan who possessed a miraculous gift for getting things done, had the German post office engineers busy linking our new station with Hamburg by land-line’. Events moved quickly and soon test programmes were being transmitted.

‘Once more in Brussels where I had gone to listen to the tests and incidentally catch up with the paper-work in my office, I was alarmed to receive a signal from Hamburg to the effect that in view of the excellent performance of the transmitter it was proposed to put a regular programme service into operation as from the next day. On learning of this the Brigadier, who had all along been a little doubtful of our enthusiasm, dictated a signal ordering Major McMillan to postpone his intentions until such time as proper consideration could be given to them. This ukase [Russian: a proclamation by the Tzar] went astray or was conveniently “lost” at the receiving end; the following morning when we tuned in as usual to the tests, we were greeted by the voice of one of our sergeant-announcers proudly proclaiming the birth of the British Forces Network in Germany! The transmission was so good and official congratulation so general that nothing more was ever heard about the missing signal.’

Eric also recalls that he enjoyed staying at ‘Johnny’s mess’. The house of a Hamburg banker, it was situated just outside Osnabruck, and ‘contained bedrooms designed, it seemed, to house Madame Pompadour’ and two Bechstein concert grand pianos. ‘My resourceful subordinate,’ this chapter of the book notes, ‘had further added to the amenities of the establishment by recruiting a first-class German chef and a head waiter who, before the war, had served at the Waldorf-Astoria in New York. Both cooking and service were so Lucullan that the Brigadier, upon one of his occasional visits of inspection, drew me aside with the words: “I say, don’t you think that fellow McMillan’s going a bit too far?”’ (I was amused to see that Eric has mis-spelt his present general manager’s name in every reference to him – but of course, that was in 1959, when Eric Maschwitz was still unconnected with television and able to write in his book apropos the theatre ‘And over all looms the sinister shadow of Television’!)

After the war came a revue produced on a shoestring, then ‘Carissima’ in 1948 with music by Hans May, a terrific success in spite of bad notices from the critics. While he was working on this, Val Parnell asked Eric to collaborate on a revue to be produced at the Hippodrome, ‘Starlight Roof’. In the cast was a child coloratura the then unknown Julie Andrews, who was nearly taken out of the show by the producer who called her performance ‘a circus act’.

‘Serenade’ followed, then ‘Belinda Fair’, after which Eric formed his first connection with television, writing a series of comedies called ‘Family Affairs’ for the BBC. Then there was a television version of ‘Carissima’ starring Barbara Kelly, which was ‘the most elaborate and costly musical production so far attempted by the BBC” and written in 82 scenes.

‘Zip Goes a Million’ came next, ‘Love from Judy’ (starring Jean Carson who had been admired by Eric in ‘Starlight Roof’ and ‘pushed’ into this part by him), ‘Romance in Candlelight’ and ‘Summer Song’.

In 1958 Eric was made head of light entertainment for BBC television, rejoining the BBC fold after an absence of 19 years. On his retirement at the age of 62 came the invitation to join Rediffusion, for whom he had already produced as a freelance.

‘I had provided a package deal of script, cast and music for a 26-part adventure serial called “Destination Downing Street” for only £600 [£12,300] an episode,’ he recalls. His records show that Susan Hampshire, then unknown, was paid £14 [£285] for an appearance and Stratford Johns £21 [£430]. He also remembers casting Richard Harris for 17 guineas [£17 17s, £17.85 in decimal, £365 today], and Fenella Fielding (as a belly dancer) for £23 [£470].

What of the present? Eric is working only part-time now for the company. He also produces a monthly news bulletin about ITV for circulation in Europe and the Far East.

Ahome in Marylebone he has just produced a new version of Franz Lehar’s ‘The Count of Luxembourg’ and is in the middle of revising ‘The Chocolate Soldier’, both for performance by amateur operatic societies. (He has always taken an immense interest in the amateur societies and has made many adaptations, and even written a new work, for them.)

He is looking for a composer for the new stage musical he is working on and which he won’t talk about yet. ‘The Press are all pestering me to know about it, but I’m not saying anything.’ With the agreement of the company, he is compèring a weekly record series on the radio and he is, and has been for the past 14 years, on the Council of the Performing Rights Society. (In 1962 he won the Ivor Novello Award for his services to popular music).

With such a full life, I asked him the other day, is there anything he regrets not having done?

‘I’d like to have gone into the Church or education,’ he replied. Then, turning to his secretary June Wisden, who has been with him now for six years, he said: ‘Did I ever tell you about the time when …’

Eric was off on another of his reminiscences…

⦿ Albert Eric Maschwitz OBE was born on 10 June 1901 in Birmingham and died on 27 October 1969 in Berkshire

The post The amazing Eric Maschwitz !!! appeared first on THIS IS REDIFFUSION from Transdiffusion.

Associated-Rediffusion has made several brave attempts to find a successful technique for putting a symphony concert on the television screen, but so far has not succeeded to its satisfaction. The best attempt I remember was Cyril Coke’s in which he devoted the first half to the rehearsal and the second to the actual performance of Stravinsky’s ‘The Firebird’ by the Hallé. I remember this as an interesting and rewarding experience and by being intrigued by the musicians’ transformation from slacks and sweaters to their soup and fish.

It was with this memory in mind that I eagerly accepted an invitation to visit the Royal Festival Hall for the London Symphony Orchestra’s final rehearsal for the night’s concert.

The vast auditorium, dark, hushed in a reverent silence, contained only a handful of shadowy figures as I crept in and oozed into a seat. The stage, brilliantly lit, seemed filled by the orchestra which was already at work. The conductor, I knew, was Pierre Monteux. Short, stocky in a workmanlike grey cotton jacket, with his dark curling hair and surprising white walrus moustache, he is the principal conductor of the L.S.O. He is acknowledged, moreover, as the doyen of all conductors, being in his 88th year. Despite his age and long years with the baton, he seemed as vigorous and fiery as any young man. There is a story that when he was offered a contract with the L.S.O. in 1961 he insisted it should be a long-term one and I believe it lasts until he is 100!

Ignoring the score, Monteux, his small expressive hands gently coaxing, began guiding the orchestra through what I thought I recognised as Beethoven’s ‘Eroica’. This work had obviously been well rehearsed before with the result that only short bursts of it were played. ‘The last ten bars again, please.’ All too soon Monteux closed the score at which he had only looked to count the bars and that was that.

In the pause that followed, I realised with a jerk that I was not going to sit there and enjoy a jolly free concert. In fact, I was not going to hear a work from beginning to end. The orchestra, being composed of individual virtuosos who can read a score at sight, was only there to give the programme its final finishing touches and subtleties as required by the conductor. Nevertheless, it would be fascinating to be behind the scenes as it were.

While a shuffling of scores went on 1 gazed round at the other listeners. Two earnest young men sat, one in front of me and one way at the back, with score on lap and ballpoints at the ready. A young woman sat on the edge of her seat, her hands clasped as if in supplication beneath her chin – very intense. Behind me I saw a small girl all in blue. Blue jersey, blue skirt, blue tights and legs that stuck out straight before her, her sandalled feet turned up. As she sucked what appeared to be an ice lolly, I saw an open violin case beside her. One did not need an A level G.C.E. to guess her Dad was in the orchestra. She sat quietly, her round blue eyes fixed on the stage.

The student in front of me (an American incidentally) kindly gave me the concert items. It was not the ‘Eroica’, but I felt a bit smug to find that it was Beethoven’s ‘The Creatures of Prometheus’ from which the composer had lifted the theme for the last movement of the ‘Eroica’. To follow was the Brahms Symphony No. 2 in D.

Now Monteux tapped his baton and every bow was at the ready. I was looking forward to the Brahms and my thoughts wandered to a terrace in Sussex where I had last heard it on an appropriately hot afternoon. But in no time came that tap-tap again. Monteux, who had been leaning over the violins, swung round to the cellos behind him. He had heard a wrong note through the back of his head.

‘Non, Non,’ he said, ‘B naturelie! It goes oom-pah-pah-paah.’

Thus singing he led the players into the Allegretto. In fact he sang for the greater part of the rehearsal. Occasionally he varied OOM-Pah-PAH with Ta-Ta-Te-TEE. At one point he emphasised the singing tone of the violins by laying his baton across his left arm as though playing the instrument himself. Come to think of it, this was not so odd since he was a violinist at the age of six before becoming a conductor at 12.

The beauty of the fragments so far played of what is sometimes referred to as Brahms’ ‘Pastoral’, had soothed me into a trance. All too soon the soft, high trumpet notes of the first movement returned to warn us that the finale was at hand. And that was that.

The L.S.O. now prepared for the pièce de resistance, Berlioz’s ‘Symphonic Fantastique’. There was much tuning of strings and a viola player carefully laid a clean square-folded handkerchief under his chin. As Monteux raised his baton the concentration was so intense it was almost concrete. You could have leaned on it.

A Largo, sad and gentle, proclaimed the theme and we listeners sat back to be moved and excited by this masterpiece. Phenomenal that Berlioz, was only 27 when he composed it and only nine years before had never heard any music other than his local folk melodies. The story in the Symphony of a young musician who, in despair due to unrequited love, takes to opium, ends on the scaffold and descends to the torments of Hell, is musically something to make your spine chill and tingle. It is, I later learned, one of the works most dear to Monteux, whose understanding of his compatriot composer is said to be unrivalled.

Behind me, the small girl had now peeled a banana and was nibbling the fruit while the starfish of its skin hung round her hand.

Monteux made short work of the first movement. With a shower of chromatics, shimmering sweeps on the harp, and sustained soarings of the violins, we sped into the waltz. This, too, ended all too soon. The cor anglais began its melancholy solo starting the third movement and then was echoed by an oboe off stage.

Monteux tapped for silence and the oboeist popped his head surprisingly round a curtain at the side of the auditorium close by the stage.

‘A leetle louder, please’ said Monteux. ‘The pooblic here (sweeping his arm over the auditorium) will not hear you so far away. Come a leetle closer (the oboeist moved until he was a bulge in the curtain) and now louder – ta-ta-ta-tee-TEE.’

Beautiful as the third movement is, I was impatient for the poignant March to the Scaffold. Inevitably one waits for the crash of the orchestra as it brings down the guillotine and snaps off the theme played so wistfully on the clarinet. I was not to hear it. There was a light touch on my arm.

‘Would you take me to the toilet, please?’ asked the small girl in blue.

Hand in hand we climbed the long flight of stall’s and, thank heaven, in the lobby outside found the ‘Ladies’. She assured me she could manage by herself and all was achieved satisfactorily.

Now that I saw her in the light I realised what an attractive child she was. Her fair but not golden hair waved to her head like a helmet and her eyes were of a striking blue.

‘What’s your name and how old are you?’

I enquired.

‘I’m Joanna and I’m five. What’s your name and how old are you?’

‘I’m Sally,’ I replied nothing daunted, ‘and I’m ninety’.

‘Oh,’ she answered in complete acceptance. We started back to our seats and on the way I learned that her Daddy was in the orchestra; she had a little sister called Tina; she was learning the piano; she often came to rehearsals but never to the concert at night; and wasn’t it a pity I had no little girls or boys of my own.

Joanna returned to her seat and busied herself with paper and pencil.

By this time Monteux and the L.S.O. were going hammer and tongs at the ‘Nightmare of the Witches’ Sabbath’. In the midst of a really menacing section the conductor stopped.

‘A leetle more on the snarl, please. Anngrrrr’ he illustrated with gritted teeth and the orchestra laughed. ‘He is among the beasts now. Better you should be too loud than no one should hear you. Again.’

Now a trombone (I think) tore off a series of snarls so fierce as to frighten the wits out of anyone. The finale got into its stride with trumpets braying, fiddles ‘sawing away regardless’, the drums and timpani going double forte and everyone doing his utmost to a tempestuous finish.

It was all over. Spectators and players burst into applause, shouting ‘bravo’ to the conductor. He modestly bowed and thanked the gentlemen of the orchestra.

As I was about to leave, there was another touch on my arm. I turned to meet the orchestra leader, Erich Gruenberg, in his gay red pullover.

“Thank you for taking care of my little girl’ he said.

‘It was a pleasure’ I answered. ‘She is very charming.’

‘I know. That is perhaps why I was a bit alarmed when I saw you take her out of the hall.’

‘You saw? In the middle of the Symphony?’ I was astounded. I couldn’t believe that anything could have broken that concentration.

‘Oh yes. However I didn’t worry. The bass player gave me a sign that it was all right.’ The bass player too. Evidently he knew Joanna’s shortcomings better than her father. As a matter of fact, I shouldn’t be surprised to learn that all 80 members of the L.S.O. witnessed my exit with Joanna.

She now approached me with two pieces of paper.

‘Look’, she said, ‘I did these for you’.

I thanked her and admired some youthful drawings and a sheet of writing that told me the numbers from 1 to 20 and that each member of her family by name was OUT.

I left the Royal Festival Hall wishing with all my heart that somehow someone could find the formula that would bring these fine players and the enjoyment I had experienced to our millions of viewers.

The post Oom-pah-PAH and Joanna appeared first on THIS IS REDIFFUSION from Transdiffusion.

‘My wife and I would very much like to get tickets to see one of your programmes as we are trying to be in London for our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary on a second honeymoon. When we got married the only way we could get the family car for our honeymoon was to take my mother and family along, which consisted of a pet monkey and seven children. Most of our honeymoon was spent looking after the seven children and chasing the monkey who was always getting loose. We do hope if we can make it that the second honeymoon will be less eventful than the first.’

Letter addressed to ‘Commercial TV London, England’, from Greensboro, North Carolina, U.S.A.

‘A massive slice of ham was cut off by Associated-Rediffusion last night in the play “Family on Trial’’.’

Nancy Spain, Daily Express

‘“Family on Trial” was one of the most worthwhile ITV plays I have seen for a long time.’

Phil Diack, Daily Herald

‘Your programme is a very good one. I like it very much. I enjoy the music page best. Will you have some more animals because I like animals. I enjoy your programmes because there is a lot of variety in them. The programme is not too long. That is why I like it.’

Edenbridge, Kent, viewer, aged 9, on ‘Lucky Dip’.

‘I would be very interested to know who are the twelve most popular BBC television actresses considered by the BBC, in order of popularity and, also, I wondered if you could tell me if there is a new panel game to take the place of “What’s My Line?” If so when is it due to start.’

South Devon viewer’s letter addressed to Associated-Rediffusion – one of the few which we couldn’t answer

‘Surely the oddest thing about television is the fear, prejudice and open hostility which it seems to arouse. There is a widespread feeling among educated and responsible people that it is something more than a new means of communication; that it is a sinister influence undermining educational standards and social life.

‘I believe this to be nonsense, and I am certain that the same things were said about the printing press and other inventions in their nursery days.’

L. Marsland Gander, Daily Telegraph

‘As a member of Associated-Rediffusion’s Educational Advisory Council and a headmaster who has been using television programmes for schools since their inception in 1957, I was interested in your readers’ letters on schools TV.

‘It was reassuring to see that most of them agreed with the policy adopted in this country; namely, that at present television programmes for schools should be supplementary to the work of the teacher and make no attempt to replace him.

‘There is no danger of standardization, because teachers receive sufficient advance information – by means of Teachers’ Notes – to enable them to select and use programmes according to the particular needs of each class.

‘I, too, am “cool” about the closed-circuit “master-teacher” technique sometimes used in America. In this country the teaching profession still has a big job to do in making fuller use of the existing service and helping the two broadcasting organizations to produce the best possible programmes for schools.

Letter to News Chronicle from Fielden Hughes, Wimbledon

‘I should like, now that our bookings have temporarily come to an end, to thank you all for your most valued support and co-operation.

‘There is no doubt at all that this particular department is still fired with the old “pioneering” spirit, and the manner in which you nurse such a diverse range of peculiar products in each programme fills me with admiration.’

Letter from an advertising agency to advertising magazines.

‘Despite the slight discrepancies, Cyril Coke’s production extracted every ounce of entertainment from a smooth plot and a neat, if not witty, dialogue.’

Neville Randall – Daily Sketch, on ‘Skyline for Two’

‘By handling the main idea respectfully and playing down the marginal incidents, the director, Mr Cyril Coke, made something stilted and humourless of the whole.’

The Times

‘We have had our TV set for four months now and after looking in at your programmes almost every evening I thought I would like to thank you for such good entertainment. One hears people criticise television but I can only think they must be very hard to please. We have three young children so can very rarely go out of an evening. We think the children’s programmes are very good, our children will never miss any of them. Please thank everyone concerned for giving us such good viewing in such a friendly way.

Letter from Thornton Heath, Surrey, viewer

‘When I grow up I would like to be the mother of eleven athletic boys. Then I could start a football team of my own and sell them to Gateshead, because they need some help.’

Letter from 12-year-old Blaydon-on-Tyne viewer.

‘I would like to make a suggestion about the programmes when you get the extra viewing time. Is it possible to have a record programme similar to the one Joan Edwards used to introduce in the early days of commercial TV? There have also been some really good shows that could bear a repeat. How nice it would be to see the “Father Knows Best”, “Sir Lancelot” and other series we enjoyed so much over again.

‘I must be one of your most devoted TV viewers as I am handicapped and I pass many a happy hour watching TV. So you see I for one would welcome the extra hours of TV.

Letter from Dalton-in-Furness, Lancashire, viewer

‘Having viewed television both here and in Canada I have come to the conclusion that your network cannot be surpassed and I must thank you for the fine plays that we, the viewers, appreciate.’

Letter from viewer in Hyde Park Gate

‘As a play it held me just about as closely as an animated story in an American magazine and, oh, so seldom animated.’

Nancy Spain, Daily Express, reviewing ‘ The Winner’

‘“The Winner”, directed by David Boisseau, turned out to be one of the smoothest plays of the year.’

Richard Sear, Daily Mirror

‘Why must such delectable programmes as “Private Secretary”, “Dick and the Duchess”, and “African Patrol” be screened at such unreasonable time as 6.10 p.m.? They are fresh and amusing and such a change from the eternal westerns. At 6.10 p.m. housewives like myself are cooking dinner with one hand and putting the youngsters to bed with the other. It makes me hopping mad to have to miss them, just catching a glimpse in passing. Surely programmes such as “This Week” or “What the Papers Say” could be switched to this time instead. After all, although these programmes are interesting, I do not think it would seriously upset anyone to miss them.’

Letter from Leyton viewer

The post They Say… August 1959 appeared first on THIS IS REDIFFUSION from Transdiffusion.

‘I believe you are the right person I should write to on the following matter. It concerns the film entitled ‘Christmas in Cyprus’, which as you know was made out here largely under the direction of Peter Hunt, and shown over your network on Christmas Day in England.

‘You have very kindly sent us a 35 mm copy of the film and this has been seen by a large number of the security forces in Cyprus. I would like you to know what a very good impression indeed this film has made; it does not overstate the case and it shows very vividly the part played by the Security Forces. I am sure that it has been a big factor in raising the morale of the soldiers.

‘I would, therefore, like to thank you very much for all the trouble taken in preparing this film and for your kindness in letting us have a copy.’

Letter to Captain Brownrigg from Major-General Kenneth Darling, Director of Operations in Cyprus.

‘It is so very nice of you to reply to my letters. I expect you think it is quite mad for a happily-married mother to be writing after photos of TV heroes. But at least it proves what a good job you are all doing. Keep it up!’

Jean Swain, Coventry (Viewer’s letter to programme correspondence).

‘Congratulations and thanks for these very fine programmes. Daniel Farson’s interview with (R.C.) Fr. Christie; “The Killing of the King” – First Class!!!’

Edward O’Hara, Yorks. (Viewer’s postcard).

EXPRESS LIFT

‘Yet for all the fortune he has made in Associated-Television he is still a man of the people. His humour is lusty. His manners are adequate, but not impeccable. When he goes up to his close-carpeted suite in Television House he will still pat the lift boy on the back and know his Christian name.’

Extract from Daily Express story on Mr Lew Grade. We have been asked to deny reports that as a result lift boys are now going to be employed.

‘I would like you to know how much I appreciated your “Hallé at Work” programme. I thought the sound was handled particularly well.’

Viewer’s ‘phone call to Night Duty Officer.
Director: Cyril Coke; sound balancer, Tony Couch.

‘The lady in the programme should be shown off a bit more because she is good looking.’

A 14-year-old boy’s comments on Muriel Young’s appearance in ‘Lucky Dip’.

‘As it turned out we were given a production which can truly be called distinguished. Ronald Marriott directed with the deftest blending of sensitivity and passion, and the acting was good down to the humblest member of the 40-strong cast.’

Denis Thomas, Daily Mail on ‘The Killing of The King’.

‘Please forgive this rather long letter, I know you are busy, but being a strong supporter of commercial TV long before it became a reality, I feel I must let you know my observations of the viewing public.

‘I am an insurance agent and have to call on people in their homes and as my pet subject is TV I know you would be pleased to know that 90 per cent of the people who have a choice of programmes choose ITV. But the biggest let down is the much vaunted ‘‘Play of the Week”’.

‘In contrast, “Film of the Week” is very popular and the general opinion is a film is better than the average play…. So take less notice of M.P.s and enemies of ITV, many of whom haven’t a TV set.’

Letter from Tooting viewer.

‘Being a young housewife whose main pleasures are derived from a three-year-old son and a one-year-old TV set, you may be sure that my choice in programmes is confirmed to those which give the highest degree of entertainment.

‘Therefore, although I have never in all my days written to any personality (not even in my film-struck teenage days) I felt that I must write to you on a superb programme “Look In” which has only one fault – it is too short! Hoping you will continue indefinitely to give myself and others so much pleasure for many a Tuesday evening to come.’

Letter to Michael Ingrams from Mrs Lois D. Morris, Middlesex.

‘Why not have a separate channel for kids. That would suit everybody and please all of us. If that fails, the other alternative rests with the parents. Why do they allow the kids to sit up? They seem to be allowed to do as they please. That is why there is so much delinquency about.’

Letter from Redhill, Surrey, viewer complaining about ‘Mark Saber’ being taken out of the early evening because of the large number of children viewing.

‘I like “Lucky Dip” because you get so many personalities.

I have never written to “Lucky Dip” before because today was the first time I have seen it.’

Young Isle of Wight viewer.

‘Usually the show succeeds: it has some of the drive and guts of Fleet Street, and is not afraid of being brash now and again. I think most viewers would welcome a quarter of an hour’s extension here.

Henry Turton, Punch, on ‘This Week’.

“This Week” turned from men to rabbits and gave us one of those cleverly-cut interviews with children which grip the heart.’

Colin Frame, The Star.
Director: Sheila Gregg; interviewer: Michael Nelson; scriptwriter: Colin Willock.

‘… the people who put on television entertainment have a sense of responsibility appropriate to those who pour shows nightly into the home, where children may be watching. After inquiry into current stage plays I reject with scorn all complaints about TV violence and puerility.’

L. Marsland Gander, Daily Telegraph.

‘I want to hand a belated pat on the back to Associated-Rediffusion…. Associated-Rediffusion was the first company to transmit commercial television programmes in Britain and it has been well aware of its responsibilities in the field of culture from the start. One of its first acts was to place the Hallé Orchestra under long-term contract and for nearly five years it has featured this orchestra in televised performances and on the concert platform. AR-TV also embarked on the ambitious scheme for staging classical plays at the Saville Theatre and, after short runs, transferring them to the television screen. The company is now offering more life drama than any other programme contractor.

The half-hour news feature programme, ‘This Week”, has been maintained in a peak-hour time every week since January, 1956. AR-TV also introduced the first regular television broadcast for schools ever seen in Great Britain, but the Beaverbrooks and the Mayhews prefer to forget about the good things and think only of the Westerns, the variety shows and the advertisements.

‘The Beaverbrook Press has backed many losers in its time but its campaign against television may well turn out to be its biggest failure.’

Ernest Kay, Time and Tide.

With all these faults the play still had some highly entertaining moments. Gladys Young (Aunt Ben) was a delight, and the meetings of the Irish M.P.’s full of life. Costumes and camera work excelled.’

Dick Sear, Daily Mirror, on ‘Parnell’, Play of the Week.
Director: David Boisseau; Costumes designed by Ernest Hewitt; Cameras manned by Vic Gardiner, Jeff Sheppard and the rest of crew 1.

Illustrations by Geraldine Spence

The post They Say… April 1959 appeared first on THIS IS REDIFFUSION from Transdiffusion.

A rumble of thunder down the Fourth Floor corridor and a flash of lightning from Room 410. The Oracle had spoken. There was to be a second series of ‘The Rat Catchers’. Feigning nonchalance, I reeled off some possible foreign locations – Dubrovnik? Tripoli? Vienna? Amsterdam? Greece?

To my surprise there was no choked gasp of monetary apprehension. I opened my eyes. The Oracle was smiling. ‘Grand’ it said. It was just a year ago.

Authors were commissioned for the series – Victor Canning, Jeremy Paul, Stanley Miller and Raymond Bowers – and the surveys of the location areas began. Dubrovnik in January with a perishing wind, heavy rain and even snow was still compelling. The attractions of Vienna beat a blustery March, but a lot of imagination was required in Amsterdam in wet February. Even Greece, though sunny, was only just emerging from winter and there was still plenty of snow on the mountains. The Kingdom of Libya didn’t seem to want to be bothered about us very much so we switched those stories to Madeira. The Portuguese are much more efficient – and nicer.

I was very happy to get the same directors for the second series – Bill Hitchcock, James Ormerod and Don Gale together with the excellent Peter Lang behind the film camera. So on May 9, our unit arrived in Vienna, where Jeremy Paul had set his stories. And Bill Hitchcock says:

‘Romantic Vienna! The lilt of the waltz, the play of sunlight dappling the shady parks; the gay chatter of tourists as they ride in the colourful horse-drawn carriages, taking them past magnificent buildings standing proud in their history. A beautiful picture.

‘Our picture was quite different – at least on the first morning of shooting. We squelched about in thick mud, in a dark, dark wood, with a steady drizzle trickling down our necks, as we filmed Gerry Flood and Glyn Owen approaching a gloomy, forbidding and crumbling old mansion. That’s show-business!

‘Later, Vienna smiled for us – and maybe because of the sharp contrast with that sad first day, the subsequent pleasures of this truly elegant city are even sharper in our memories.

‘As the song says, “Take me back to Vienna” – any time!’

On May 15 we flew from Vienna to Dubrovnik. That is some of us flew, while others were stuck for the night in Zagreb. Ever seen 96 people try to get into 69 seats in a Caravelle? At night? We have. It can’t be done. Funny thing about Zagreb – each time I’ve been there I’ve never yet flown in and out without some awful crisis, which always ends up with me spending the night there – this time with no luggage whatever. You just cannot get a good shave with an Agfa Silette.

By a miracle all the equipment reached Dubrovnik, which was sunny and glorious, and on May 16 James Ormerod started to tear through a mountain of filming. James’ memories include:

‘The staggering efforts of the unit, Peter Lang, Tony, Keith and Vic, in getting through such an enormous amount of work in so short a time. And Helen, toiling away at all hours, and falling asleep over dinner.

‘Dubrovnik, rugged, ancient, and very proud. The faces of her people hard, romantic, beautiful, moulded by their violent history. The immense strength of those magnificent walls. Echoing voices, no juke boxes, no telly, no traffic. Simply the murmur of people talking, or at night singing in the cafes or strolling down the one main street, lantern lit and shining with the polish of a million footsteps. And the wine, the lovely Zilavka. I’d like to go back to Dubrovnik.’

Then came the long hop to Madeira. A Convair from Dubrovnik to Rome. Enough time in Rome to hurl some Austrian and Yugoslav small change into the Trevi Fountain and then into a Boeing 707 bound for Lisbon. Here we met up with the artists for Victor Canning’s stories. A Constellation lifted us way out into the Atlantic and we were treated to the excitement of a pretty ‘hairy’ landing on Madeira’s six-foot runway. Don Gale and Sylvia were there to meet us. They looked all fresh and calm.

Don’s memories of Madeira include:

‘The arrival of the unit when half the peasant populace of Madeira were indulging themselves in their favourite pastime “Let’s see if the plane lands”. The approach was so death defying that the peasants ran for cover and the unit to the bar… after they had kissed the ground as a thanksgiving.

‘Setting up to film the hi-jacking of a lorry on a mountain road and having to move everything further and further up the mountain as the cloud and mist formed and came up finally to engulf us.

‘Directing local extras, whose best friend had definitely not told them, in the heat of the midday sun. What with their lack of knowledge of English and our lack of enthusiasm to go near them, directing had to be imparted by long distance mime.’

This completed the filming for the first eight episodes so we returned to London where arrangements were well under way for the recording of the first programme on June 16. Near the end of August – six recorded programmes later – we were all off again on the final burst of foreign filming to cover the last five episodes. This time it was Holland and Greece.

While I went ahead with the advance party to Corfu, James Ormerod and his unit flew to Amsterdam about which James remarks: ‘Very flat Amsterdam. None of the climbing and hauling up of equipment we had in Dubrovnik. The surprising courtesy of our Dutch colleagues. Work on location starts at seven and goes on till sunset, but whatever the time, as long as there was work to be done, they joined in cheerfully and without any prompting.

‘Then the herring stalls. The succulent raw fish, deftly filleted, dipped in chopped onion. And the greatest delicacy of all – smoked eel. Unforgettable – except for Dubrovnik, and the lovely Zilavka.’

On September 1 the unit and all the artists arrived in Corfu for the Greek filming. It was sunny and hot – stinking hot – in fact the day temperature in the shade never fell below the 90’s during the whole time we were filming – except for the days of the gale, about which more later – and in some places, like the mountains and at the Acropolis, it must have been nearer 100 degrees. Despite great care we still suffered casualties from the heat.

The schedule for Greece was very, very tight and the terrain was tough so that at the end of our first day’s filming I found myself exactly half a day behind schedule. And we’d only just started. But we were now in the land of Hercules and this time we had Nick Hague and Jan Smith as well, so we caught up the slack and, on September 5 we were all aboard the 6 a.m. ferry to the mainland to go on that breath-taking, bumpy, hair-pin drive 160 miles through the Pindus mountains to the Meteora, right in the middle of Greece, where ancient monasteries are perched on the pinnacles of extraordinary rock formations.

Two days of very energetic, very hot filming and then we had the 230 miles drive down to Athens to board the motor yacht lllyris which we had chartered and which was intended to transport us serenely as we slept to the glorious island of Andros for two days filming. But it didn’t work out that way. Half-way through the drive to Athens the Gods deserted us and we ran into a torrential near-hurricane. ‘Oh yes, two-day gales can happen in Greece at this time of year.’ Now they tell us!

At Piraeus wet, tired and bedraggled we were told we could not sail till the early hours. So we downed our Kwells and hoped for the best. By 10 the next morning we were anchored in a bay sheltering from the gale with nothing in view except a forbidding shore line sporting a factory and a rather large slag heap. It was too dangerous to make for Andros. Already some ships had been sunk in the night. What should have been our filming day slowly ticked by, cheered up only by some mad games of poker and a sort of desperate hilarity.

I thought to myself ‘Coke – this time you’ve gone too far. You’ve got all the artists, crew and equipment stuck on a boat in the Aegean and there is nothing you can do about it. Black disaster lies ahead. The Oracle and the Little Queen of all the Rushes will be very displeased.’

But that night, after 14 hours at anchor, we made a rough crossing to the island of Poros which was sheltered. The gale dropped and at 6 a.m. it was clearly going to be a glorious day. We went ashore at 7 a.m. and, 12 hours later, we finally wrapped up the last shot, having completed two days filming in one. Once again my magnificent team of Spartans had caught up on our elusive schedule. Back to Piraeus for filming at the harbour, and then on to Athens where filming included some dramatic scenes at the Acropolis and, suddenly – 20,000 feet of film and 270 set-ups after we had started at Corfu – it was all over.

And the memories? Laughter – lots of it. Work – even more. The toughness of the unit -fantastic. Greek ouzo and retzina wine – the happy dusty little tavemas – the enchanting people – and how we all gradually fell under the spell of that magic country. And over it all – literally – that great, hot, gleaming, glorious sun.

The post Coke’s tour appeared first on THIS IS REDIFFUSION from Transdiffusion.

But none of these things seemed to happen. Instead I found myself padding down all the same old jungle tracks that I had been padding down since 1955. The outline idea of the series had been born. Now I was frantic to find really first-class writers and excellent actors. Could we be assured of adequate rehearsal time and could we get all the equipment and crews we wanted? Would enough money to do the job properly come pouring out of the cornucopia that general manager John McMillan keeps under his desk? In fact I had exactly the same longings and hysterical anxieties that I had experienced during the direction of more than 50 plays over the past ten years.

This is heresy, I thought. You are not a director any longer. You are a producer. God has said so. You must stop thinking about all those unimportant things and think only about money and not spending it. So I thought a lot about money – and frightened myself. What I needed was a yardstick, something I could rely on to guide me through these new and uncharted waters – a sort of Gamekeeper’s Lode Star.

Parallel to all this mental agony the plan went ahead – writers were commissioned. Actors were approached and everyone liked the idea. An overall shape and ‘smell’ was emerging. We began to get excited. I found myself cornering directors in corridors and selling the idea like mad. Eric Maschwitz got visibly more and more excited and cigarette ash was piling up a foot high all round him. Gerald Flood, Glyn Owen and Philip Stone were to be our stars and I could not have been happier. Things were rolling.

Then, suddenly, along came the Budget. Like one has a sudden attack of shingles, so we had a sudden attack of Budget. I realised that the figure suggested was not nearly enough – enough for a couple of ‘Small Times’ and an outdoor broadcast of a fishing contest on the Ouse perhaps; but for a series of 13 terrific stories ranging all over Europe that would pulse and throb entertainment from the screen, no. Definitely no. We’d be lucky if we managed to go on location at Bognor Regis for a Thursday afternoon, let alone filming in Lisbon, Madrid, Stockholm and Ireland as the writers and I were planning. So we sent the skinny, sickly little budget figure back for a sort of rest cure with a polite note to the Doctor. After a while it came back just a little fatter and looking a tiny bit more healthy. If I took very, very great care of it, it might just have a chance. But it really did look awfully wan and pathetic lying there in its Blyton cot.

Now things were really happening. Raymond Bowers was in Madrid writing the first four stories. Paul Lee was visiting Stockholm to get the atmosphere for his three episodes while Jeremy Paul was in Lisbon sorting out his. Victor Canning, whose stories were to be set in Southern Ireland, was well under way. But I still hadn’t found my yardstick – my Lode Star. By mid-July all 13 scripts had been delivered. All the meetings and planning with our writers were now paying off. Fred Pusey, who was to be in charge of design for the series, and I went on a detailed reconnaissance to all the locations. James Ormerod accompanied us to Madrid since he was to do his own filming there while I was to take care of the filming in Lisbon and Stockholm.

Back home, a lot of behind-the-scenes work by Eric was now beginning to bear fruit and the incomparable Stella Ashley was legitimising us with studio management and scheduling. Bill Hitchcock and Don Gale were going to be able to direct the remaining stories. I was in good hands. And then suddenly we hurtled off on three weeks’ filming in Portugal, Spain and Sweden. Under Nick Hague’s expert and Machiavellian management we carved our merry way through acres of filming. But, right from the start, I was haunted, haunted by the everlasting question: how much is it all costing? Who was paying for those drinks on the aircraft? Surely we don’t n$ed all that transport? Colour film for the stills man? I hope we’re not paying all those drivers in that traffic jam that the police are engineering for us in the middle of Madrid? Who are all those people over there? Not extras I hope. (Nick: ‘Calm down, Cyril! Have a drink – an orange juice.’) ‘But Nick four guineas for 12 coffees and pastries in Stockholm?’

I was certain that all the money for the entire series would be completely spent long before we’d even got back to England. Early call after early call, late wrap-up after late wrap-up (and all costing money mind you), day after day. Thank Heaven everyone was too exhausted to spend much of the company’s money at night just eating. The sound recordist’s tummy trouble certainly saved us a lot of money on food – and I was glad to see symptoms developing in some of the more voracious members of the unit. Under budget we had to be, even if we all went home skeletons. But everyone was magnificent. Not only did we manage to achieve exactly what we had set out to do, but what was even more staggering, we actually finished well under budget. I breathed again.

One day after we had returned to England I was sitting in my office thinking about the whole project, when suddenly I realised how much I would like to direct the whole damn series myself – all 13 episodes. I felt a sneaking jealousy of Messrs. Ormerod, Hitchcock and Gale. Lucky fellows, I thought. And then it happened. I found my Producer’s Lode Star. This was the secret – for me at least, to make every effort, to get 13 fine scripts, first-class actors, ample time and money, and the feeling that I hated to part with every single story. Then to get them all polished and neatly dressed to be handed over, a little reluctantly perhaps, but with a paternal smile. As I said before, they were all going into good hands.

P.S. Oh, didn’t I tell you what the series is all about? Well, they say it’s going to start on February 1. It’s called ‘The Rat Catchers’.

The post Once a poacher… appeared first on THIS IS REDIFFUSION from Transdiffusion.

From Fusion 41, the house magazine of Rediffusion, published at Christmas 1965

The board made the following £1,000 Golden Star Awards for outstanding creative contributions to the TV programmes of Rediffusion, London during the previous 12 months:

Basil Rootes and Freddie Slade jointly (they received £500 each) for their work on the sound recording for the documentary ‘The Grafters’ which dealt with street traders;

Cyril Coke for his work on ‘Crime and Punishment’ and the ‘Four of Hearts’ series;

Robert Kee for his script for the ‘Children of Revolution’ Intertel documentary about young people growing up in Czechoslovakia and for his script contributions to ‘This Week’;

Philippa Gail for her part in ‘Summertime Ends Tonight’, the last play in the ‘Four of Hearts’ series.

Each were presented with their cheque and their Golden Star trophy by chairman John Spencer Wills at the company’s annual meeting.

The Guild of Television Producers and Directors made their awards on November 11. Rediffusion, London received more than all the other ITV companies combined.

Craft Awards for production went to:

Peter Morley, outside broadcasts, for his work on ITV’s coverage of the State Funeral of Sir Winston Churchill and for his documentary ‘L.S.O. – the music men’;

Charles Squires, documentary, for his work on ‘The Grafters’ and ‘Paradise Street’;

Jeremy Issacs, factual, and the production team of ‘This Week’;

Cyril Coke, drama, for his work on ‘Crime and Punishment’, ‘The Rules of the Game’ and ‘Four of Hearts – Tilt’.

In addition the actress of the year, Gwen Watford, and the actor of the year, Alan Badel, had also worked on Rediffusion, London productions. Gwen Watford was in ‘Take Care of Madam’ and ‘The Rules of the Game’ while Alan Badel had appeared in ‘A Couple of Dry Martinis’.

(Joe McGrath who worked in graphic design some years ago won a Craft Award for light entertainment for his work on ‘Not Only… But Also’ and ‘The Big Noise’.)

The post Prize people appeared first on THIS IS REDIFFUSION from Transdiffusion.