The day TV ran the army
How Associated-Rediffusion made “Battle at Chalkdown” in 1963

Sixty Associated-Rediffusion personnel, eight cameras, 150 troops, 15 tanks and 25 armoured personnel carriers contributed to the 40-minute programme ‘Battle at Chalkdown’ which demonstrated the modern army in action. The whole operation – rigging the equipment, rehearsing and shooting – took eight days, during which time the weather was particularly bad with much heavy rain. All of which indicated that the event would provide some entertaining copy for Fusion. This is the story of that programme seen through the eyes of PETER HUNT.

One of the cynical legends from the Hollywood stables concerns a script-writer whose midnight oil burned for a serious drama about the Air Force: when his film was finished he missed the premiere because it was now a musical called ‘Up Periscope’. Recalling this I was not surprised when Robert Everett revealed to us that an elaborate outside broadcast, planned around an aircraft-carrier would now be re-cast as an Army show, a battle to be fought on the hills of Wiltshire. To all of us who worked on it the programme was simply ‘Robert’s War’. For transmission it became ‘Battle at Chalkdown’.
It was to be a highly complex technical operation, both for us and for the Army which was to provide two forces, ‘attackers’ and ‘enemy’, to deploy tanks, artillery and infantry in such ways that a ‘battle’ could be started and finished over the entire ground, and to a given time. In short, a military operation had to be conducted to specifications laid down by a television company. That it was done is a remarkable tribute to the liaison which developed during weeks of planning between soldiers and television technicians. The ‘built’ OB is always a headache because all its component parts must be precisely planned. You cannot plan a Cup Final because 22 footballers were never intended to play on cues.
The problem for Chalkdown was to plan a battle in such a way that its essential components could be covered by eight television camera positions. This seemed straightforward enough, in theory, until we saw what had to be covered.
Robert Everett, Grahame Turner, who directed, and I went down to Warminster to watch a 40-minute all arms tactics wing demonstration set up by the School of Infantry. The cast involved an armoured squadron of Centurion tanks, a company of infantry in armoured personnel carriers, artillery, antitank guns, blank and live ammunition. There was a lot of noise and smoke.
Grahame and I agreed that the terrain presented camera problems. Could the Army shift the whole operation about a mile down the way and handle a similar demonstration in roughly 264 minutes? It is interesting to observe the face of a man who is trying not to say ** ****.
The Army agreed to shift the terrain and we started measuring ground. It is interesting to walk over muddy, tank-chewed ground and measure estimated timings.
On the basis of the sequence of events we had seen happen in a demonstration I put up a timed-in-the-mind draft script with pictures attached. The idea was to give us all an impression of what we would see and for approximately how long over any given part of the battle. At this stage the School of Infantry, in the person of Colonel Wallace, noted our requests, had a think, and agreed. This called for a second batch of pictures and a lot of consultation with Grahame Turner. And there was a snag. In order to get the kind of close-up effect of tanks and turrets and guns and machine-gunners and explosions and artillery and more tanks and turrets and so on … we had run out of cameras.
Somewhere along the line Robert Everett suggested that a central area, covered by two cameras, could be created, in which the necessary inserts could be achieved. The idea was this: to take main action on the battle itself, but to take close-up action on what came to be known as an ‘FX Circus’. The ‘Circus’ was to contain all those closeups which could not be adequately handled in long shot or medium shot.
This involved special problems for the Army. They meant, for instance, that a certain tank under radio instruction would have to start moving from position X towards position Y at pre-fixed times which would coincide with the action required by the script. All this had to be rehearsed over ground which became increasingly choppy.
On first try-out the Major commanding the squadron of tanks reported that the operation would run 40 minutes. Colonel Wallace suggested that it would run about 264 minutes. This caused a situation.
Unbeknown to the Army, who were now working things out in language we could never transmit, our situation in London was rendered delicate by a re-timing determined by network considerations. Rumour had it that we were going to run about 35 minutes and not 264.
On this basis I drove a mean average between what we might want and what the Army said it could do, and settled, temporarily, for the 264-minute version which tank major said would run to 40. It looked as if we might average out.
Unbeknown to us tank major had been doing some dawn-work on the Wiltshire hills and was soon able to report that his original estimate of 40 minutes would now, and he could prove it, because he did, work out well at an overall timing of 21 minutes.
At this stage Grahame and I began to have misgivings about the programme’s timing. Here, both Army and Associated-Rediffusion Ltd now engaged in a para-military device known as compromise. Every sequence was re-examined; many were re-timed and rehearsed again.
Came the dawn. We were all ready. The last of many conferences was over. In perfect light Grahame tried a ‘take’.
The tanks moved, the explosions began, the smoke drifted. It was an adequate rehearsal, and no one was satisfied. All agreed to go again next day and hope for weather. When we woke it was raining. A sea of mud, cables embedded in mud, men dressed in mud, teacups full of mud.
On the basis of the last under-run we repaired for lunch to Imber Court, a derelict mansion dripping with echoes of ‘Journey’s End’, where beer was served with strange pies. Colonel Wallace passed a weary hand across a weary sandwich. Orders were recast – for the ‘FX circus’, for the voices off, for the artillery, for the tanks.
Just before the final ‘take’ the sun came out and condensation started on some lenses. I heard Grahame say something in the scanner but decided to forget exactly what it was.
The tanks moved, the explosions began (some special ‘bangs’ had been reserved for the final take). Grahame gave his instructions to cameras. Working just ahead of him our army controller gave his instructions. Bren gunners fired on cue. Explosions went off on cue. Enemy soldiers ‘died’ on cue. (One soldier rushed up to a camera position and asked, ‘what shot are we on next?’) Chalkdown was finally taken, with the assistance of some 60 soaked technicians and seven punctures.
Someone asked me why we had made a programme which actually suggested that the Army is pretty good. I have to admit that as I was wet through at the time and in no state to justify the existence of the Armed Services, I rushed to a Wombat, took careful aim, and fired.
About the author
Peter Hunt worked on 'This Week' in various executive capacities in its early days.