With shouts of ‘Have a nice holiday – enjoy yourselves’ ringing in our ears, eight members of a unit of nine gathered at London airport. Needless to say the non-arrival was H. [Hughie – Ed] Green, who seems to have a special clause in his contract that guarantees late arrival.

With collective suggestions from the unit ranging from ‘we can always post sync’ and ‘we can do the reverses in Lincoln’s Inn Fields’ the unit passed through the appropriate gate on its way to the aircraft. H. Green arrived eventually at the airport and, with Ken Wyatt as a ministering angel, was rushed through the booking-in formalities and arrived breathless but unabashed, to be greeted with various coarse comments by the unit. Perhaps with Berlin in mind and the possibility that BOAC might be talked into letting Green into the sharp end of the aircraft, there was an immediate rush to the insurance counter.

During our journey to India, the unit were given a long ‘multi-coloured’ iced cake suitably inscribed ‘Double Your Money’ and garnished with £ signs. Not knowing where to put the cake, and not wishing to be told, it was decided to let the steward cut it up and distribute it to all the passengers on the aircraft. In this way, we disposed of the cake and ensured that any noxious contents planted in this delicacy by critics of the programme got a good distribution. This, of course, is known as audience participation.

Another thing that came to light on this trip was an aversion that Hughie Green has to people sleeping on aircraft. If any member of the unit managed to drop off, this sufferer from insomnia would shake them and enrol them into his club. If you tried to persist in sleeping, not only were you woken up again, but you were sat next to, and engaged in conversation.

Fourteen hours later, the unit arrived in New Delhi, and was conducted to a large baroque edifice which was the hotel. Armies of porters descended on the luggage and under the maternal supervision of our unit manager, the fracas was stopped from being a riot and transformed to the comparative quiet of say, the ‘Ready, Steady, Go!’ studio. But, dear reader, the weekend didn’t begin here, it ended in calamity when, on ordering beer (purely on medical grounds, of course, as the water is suspect) a gaily ‘turbaned’ gentleman giving an impression of Peter Sellers said: ‘Very sorry, dry day, no drink.’ Even H.G. was speechless.

Other memories of the trip after this great shock are rather confused, but some of course do still stick in the mind.

There were the strange antics of director and quiz master in front of the Taj Mahal which confused a large percentage of the local population when the first contestant failed his first question after being brought all the way from London.

It was with little regret that eight members boarded their plane to leave India, even though they were wondering what the next contestant would be like and whether their own personal stomach upsets would be settled by New Zealand.

We would like to point out that after our arrival in North Island, N.Z., the fact that it rained and floods covered most of the island had nothing whatsoever to do with our new contestant coming from Manchester. We would also like to point out that the national disaster referred to by the Prime Minister during our stay was these self-same floods, and had nothing to do with the programme or the unit.

A rather odd incident concerned the kangaroo that appeared in the show in Australia. It was quite definitely male, but was confused by being named Mabel. Still, that’s show business.

Other events included buying tailored shoes in Hong Kong. There were four fittings and still they were completed in less than 24 hours. There was the rudeness and slowness of the American customs at Honolulu and the rain that fell in Antigua against all local knowledge but which was attributed by the unit to our contestant. There was Green turning blue during the filming at Niagara where the temperature was 18 degrees Fahrenheit while two days previously we had been filming in a temperature of 88 degrees Fahrenheit.

These and many others were memorable incidents but the facts are that the unit flew 39,500 miles, filmed in five countries and recorded in Canadian and Australian studios three one-hour tapes in 28 days.

The post Around the world in 28 days appeared first on THIS IS REDIFFUSION from Transdiffusion.

‘The yellow submarine is like an information-cum-lost-persons-cum-marriage-cum-personnel office.’ So says Mrs Peggy Davidson, manager of production in Ray Dicks’ section about her yellow-painted office on a corner of the fourth floor – like a submarine, it has no view.

Peggy Davidson’s job is to assign teams of directors, PAs and stage managers to programmes and allocate the rehearsal rooms. It sounds simple but working with creative people sometimes presents problems and in particular the problem of personalities.

‘Some people don’t like working with others, some people work better on a certain kind of programme and some haven’t the ability to do what they want,’ says Peggy Davidson. ‘All this has to be taken into account when considering a team for a programme. When I started this job, I was very worried about matching people up, and found that all my best ideas seemed to come in the middle of the night. The answer was to keep a pencil and notepad by my bed, and when I woke up shouting “Of course – put her with him” I would jot it down immediately. I’ve still got a notebook by my bed, but it’s only used in moments of great stress.’

The manager of production’s job has changed a lot over the past four years. In 1965, Peggy Davidson had 40 staff directors and brought in perhaps a dozen freelancers for specific assignments over a year. Now there are 22 staff directors and the rest, over half, are contracted. This involves much work as there are agents to be contacted, contracts to be negotiated and fees to be arranged and the whole to be passed by the controller of production, Ray Dicks. The position of PAs has also changed during this time. All PAs are on the staff and must be kept working all the time. ‘The days of a durable partnership between a director and a PA are going to become rare,’ says Peggy Davidson.

To keep them busy PAs must now be moved from one director to another. This means matching them with a book showing what a director is doing at any time and when he will be free or available for a programme. There are also minor problems like making sure that the contract directors have offices, that PAs have stop watches and that programmes have rehearsal rooms. The number of rehearsal rooms at Television House are dwindling as they are converted into offices. Part of Peggy Davidson’s job is to find new rooms outside, which means more negotiations. This can sometimes produce unexpected complications like: ‘You can have the room all week except Thursday afternoon when we have our jumble sale’.

Theoretically, once the members of the unit are selected Peggy Davidson’s responsibility towards that programme ceases. In fact it doesn’t, because her office (known to the inmates as the Yellow Submarine and to outsiders as Ray’s Aviary) is a clearing house of information concerning the whereabouts of people, the availability of freelancers and general problems.

‘The job has developed a great deal over the past four years,’ continues Peggy Davidson. ‘I think one of the biggest changes has been the advent of producers. When I started, there were really only two – one for “No Hiding Place” and one for “This Week”. Now there seems to be one for almost every programme. It makes the job more complicated, because there is one extra channel to go through. Setting up a show used to involve the head of a section and his manager, but now there is a third person to cater for – the producer. All three have their own ideas, their own preferences and their own dislikes. Matched up with the creative ability of directors, plus the opinions of the PAs and SMs, one has an awful lot of combinations to play with.’

The job of being a director, a PA or an SM are among the most sought-after in television. Peggy Davidson sees on average three would-be SMs and a PA each week. ‘They go onto a waiting list or my files,’ she says. ‘I also see directors and arrange for Ray Dicks to interview them too. SMs are usually trained when they come, as are directors, but PAs are more often trained with Rediffusion. ‘We have a board of PAs to help select the girls – but vacancies are few and far between. They are in all three jobs.’ Peggy Davidson is an ex-PA herself. She joined Rediffusion in 1955 and after two years went to Canada. She returned in 1959, worked on ‘Hippodrome’ and the following year went into advertising. At Stella Ashley’s request she returned, for the second time, in 1962 and worked on ‘The Somerset Maugham Hour’ series. Then she took over from James Butler who had been manager of production for three months on a temporary basis. ‘It’s the longest I have ever been in one job,’ she says. ‘I love dealing with people and this job involves a great deal of it.

‘Our humorous and tragic moments come and go,’ concludes Peggy Davidson. ‘Usually they are of the moment, and are neither funny nor important by the following week. The one that does stand out in my memory though was a director announcing he would interview all the SMs before deciding which one he wanted to work with. He so floored me that I let him see four and choose his own. It’s never been done before or since.’

The post The yellow submarine’s periscope 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 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.