TALK IS CHEAP. No one is more conscious of the truth of that maxim than TV executives.

Talkers get less money than actors. They need no elaborate sets to back them up. Studios can be small and rehearsal time almost minimal.

There is no need to supplement them with original film material which entails the expense of large film crews. There is little to be paid in the way of hotel or travelling expenses.

A half-hour talk programme ran be laid on for about one-tenth the cost of a half-hour drama or documentary. Transmitting 30 minutes of conversation that costs £400 [£5,945 in today’s money allowing for inflation – Ed] instead of a play that costs £4,000 [£59,450] can save a TV company, on one programme alone, something like £175,000 [£2.6m] in a single year.

Another advantage of talk from a TV executive’s point of view is that he can use it to substantiate his claim that he is fulfilling his serious and cultural responsibilities to the medium. And it doesn’t cost him much.

Thus in their annual reports, the commercial companies can include long lists of dons, philosophers, authors, artists, composers, editors, scientists, who have appeared on their programmes which helps provide a smokescreen of social responsibility.

For minimal costs the maximum amount of goodwill is achieved.

Little

With such obvious benefits to be gained, it is surprising how little thought, imagination and effort goes into the average talks programme. This is one area of TV where it costs no more to make a good programme than it does to make a bad one.

TV is, of course, largely the art of the cheap budget. Since the BBC is being starved of its additional fee and since the commercial companies are being faced with the increased expense of introducing colour, it is perhaps natural that talk programmes should begin to proliferate on all channels.

If late on Sunday you switch from BBC-2 to BBC-1 to IIV, you will get no surcease from talk, talk, talk. The BBC has just introduced a regular Monday evening show of talk conducted by Michael Aspel. The new London TV companies promise us Eamonn Andrews talking three nights a week and David Frost talking another three nights a week.

Watching these programmes I am constantly impressed by the affinity their producers have with the Bourbons who learned nothing and forgot nothing.

We critics are constantly bing abused for having nothing constructive to offer the toilers in the electronic vineyards of TV.

But it is clear from these latest specimens of cauliflower TV — aimed to assault the ear rather than the eye – that elementary errors pointed out time and time again by critics are repeated by new waves of talks producers as if they were either too stubborn to take good advice, too arrogant to learn from experience or loo lazy to read.

Slavish

The Sunday night chat on BBC-2’s Late Night Line-Up, for example, is modelled with almost slavish fidelity on the format of the old Brains Trust but without any apparent understanding of what made that programme a success and this one a failure.

The formula for good conversation on TV is little different from that faced by every successful hostess organising a dinner party. There must not be too many guests; they must have areas of common interest; the bore must be immediately recognised and neutralised.

Any ideal dinner party, too, must not be composed of complete strangers uncomfortably trying to get on each other’s wavelengths and rarely succeeding before the brandy stage has been reached.

There must be some guests who know each other so well that they can exchange gossip, banter and abuse without feeling self-conscious or inhibited.

Unease

Instead of a team of anchormen like Commander Campbell, Huxley and Joad in the original Brains Trust or Michael Foot, A. J. P. Taylor and Lord Boothby in Free Speech — and these two were undoubtedly the best talk programmes yet conceived for either radio or TV – Late Night Line-Up’s Sunday conversation recruits four new faces every week and rarely has a group so regularly communicated such unease.

Not only does this motley assembly seem to have little in common, but it is only with a great deal of effort that they give any impression of being remotely interested in most of the questions they are asked to talk about.

Thus Yehudi Menuhin discussing the nation’s dedication to sport prefaced his remarks by omitting he knew very little about sport.

Irene Worth, asked to talk about the problem of amateurism in the Civil candour said: “I don’t know. I have no views about this”.

Now what is the basis of assembling Yehudi Menuhin, Sir Edward Boyle, Irene Worth and Roger McGough [respectively, a violinist, the Tory MP for Birmingham Handsworth, an actress and a poet] for a conversation on TV? I can think of only one subject they have in common — music – and possibly drama. Then why are they asked to chat about sport or the Civil Service or heredity?

On the other hand, the following week Willi Frischauer, whose field is politics and journalism, had to artificially convert himself into an authority on pop music and the Beatles.

Drab

Again there seemed nothing to link Willi Frischauer, an exuberant and likeable talker on his own subject, with the drab threesome he was trying to stimulate into something resembling a concerned reaction.

On this programme no one gets angry, no one seriously contradicts anyone, no one seems involved and no one really cares. One has the impression they are all there for their chat fees and little else. It is gentility run riot!

Michael Dean and Joan Bakewell, as the chairmen, seem obsessed with the esoteric and cultural aspects of life to the exclusion of almost everything else. When the panel are asked a question like: “Does the future of culture lie in the development of vernacular art?” not only do the guests seem to sigh a mental groan but the sound of sets switching off throughout the land must be deafening.

Another producer who seems to have learned nothing from the experience of other talk programmes is Christopher Martin, who is responsible for Malcolm Muggeridge’s new Sunday evening programme, The Question Why?

Anxious

Claiming for itself a reflective aim in which such profound questions as the basis for our need for wealth, a longer life, more happiness, would be asked and probed, this programme made the elementary mistake of filling the studio with about 30 people all anxious to get at each other’s throats.

Not only is it insulting to invite so many people to take part in a programme in which their average speaking time can only be about a minute and a half each, but when the topic is to be something as complicated and combustible us the right to strike it is courting verbal chaos to jam so many participants into the same studio.

The Hyde Park Speakers’ Corner format has been tried time and time again on TV — Man Alive only recently had to abandon it — and always the result has been disastrous.

Malcolm Muggeridge trying to discipline the storm of shouts, interjections, insults looked like some benign King Canute stemming the incoming tide with the pat of his hands.

If the questions Mr. Muggeridge wants to ask cannot be answered by civilised talkers in a civilised atmosphere, given a civilised amount of time for reflection and argument, then I’m afraid he has no business asking them at all.

The post Talkers get less money than actors and the results suggest the reason appeared first on THIS IS MY 1960s from Transdiffusion.

Syndicated to newspapers on 9 March 1968

The most immutable, unchangeable, orthodox, settled, transfixed and stubborn form of TV is in the field of light entertainment.

Symbolic of the rooted thinking in the world of variety TV was that revolving stage in the Palladium Show which want on turning with its load of waving chorus girls until even Lew Grade must have grown dizzy at the sight of it.

Such modest deviations in technique that have emerged over the decodes inevitably result in a rash of imitations that never know when to stop.

Perry Como achieved fame in America because of a relaxed throw-away style of delivery and presentation. Since then entertainers in roll-neck sweaters have been relaxing so much their backbones are in danger of becoming vestigial remnants.

The stool

Another modest innovation in the Perry Como Show was the high stool. The result is that the stool has now become the inevitable prop for signalling a friendly informal atmosphere.

When entertainers or singers want to chat cosily to each other or to the audience, they draw up a stool. No one ever sits in a chair and even standing up has become slightly suspect.

It is by such mini advances — hardly the width of the merest G-string — that TV musical shows inch themselves into the future. Compared to the changes that take place in TV drama, comedy shows, current affairs programmes and documentaries, the variety programme is the reluctant dinosaur of the small screen.

Even the annual report of the Independent Television Authority — a document notoriously reticent about casting the slightest shadow of disapproval on anything seen on Channel 9 — has used the words “stale” and “disappointing” about the commercial companies’ output of light entertainment and called for “positive corrective measures.”

But the rot seems to have seeped into the BBC as well. There it may have started with the Val Doonican Show.

Mr. Doonican, a friendly Irishman with a soothing, singing voice, managed to sweep this brand of relaxed amiability into the top ratings.

The show was remarkable only for the intensity of its cosiness. Surrounded by a group of perpetually grinning singers, the highlights of the programme were the choral singing of very old, very familiar, very childish folk songs.

The rest were the usual guests, the usual badinage, the usual toothy greetings. No effort was made to provide anything imaginative in the way of choreography, decor, script or style. Indeed an ideal programme to sleep by.

Since this was apparently what the public wanted, the BBC has repeated the formula in The Rolf Harris Show. Here, if possible, wholesomeness is an even more aggressive quality than it was in the Val Doonican show.

Mr. Harris, bearded and twinkling, has all the by-gosh, gee-whiz charm of a cousin from Australia. He is always overwhelmed by the magnificence of his guests (“They are really international stars … Come on, a tremendous burst of applause for our next guest.”)

His patter is artificially folksy. “I was thinking recently about giraffes,” he tells us, as an excuse for an infantile song about his wish to be able to talk to the animals.

His jokes are simply cringe-making. “Where’s your iambic pentameter?” “I thought you were going to bring it,” is a more-brilliant-than-usual exchange.

Or something like the closing lines of his last show: “My little girl — she’s only four — came back from school with a scruffy little rag doll worth £12 10s … (pause) … Well, it was worth £12 10s. because she swapped her bicycle for it.”

The centre-piece of the programme is Mr. Harris demonstrating his ability to paint with a huge brush on a broad, grey canvas.

Picasso

As he pom-poms, boo-hoops to himself in a humming undertone, the audience settles back as if they were watching nothing less than Picasso at work. What emerges are rather mediocre greeting card scenes whose only distinction is the audacity it takes to demonstrate so tiny a gift so brazenly.

The other staple ingredient of The Rolf Harris Show is a leaping, cavorting group of young men and girts whose idea of a dance routine is to chase each other around the studio or bend forward in a row grinning archly at the camera.

Indeed, the whole show smacks of well-intentioned amateurism. Since Mr. Harris cannot sing, dance, draw or tell jokes very well, it is only natural that he should be surrounded by an atmosphere revelling in its own mediocrity. It is all bland and harmless in much the same way as having a bath in semolina pudding.

A step-up in imagination — but not much — is Once More With Felix on BBC-2. Miss Julie Felix, her aquiline face framed in a cascade of black hair, has presumably been given this show because she is sincere with a guitar.

More often than not her repertoire consists of protest songs that for me seem to have exactly the same melody.

Her pretty face takes on an aura of social significance as she rhythmically tries to break our hearts about the Mexican deportees who are chased “like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves” and die in the following sequence: in the hills, in the mountains and in the plains.

Stamina

It’s never easy to whip oneself up into a proper mood of indignation about such folksy injustice when the guests on the programme tend to be lighthearted puppeteers or raconteurs seemingly indifferent to “trying for the sun” or “not having a name when you reach the aeroplane.”

There is a spasmodic attempt to use bits of film to illustrate some of the songs — almost always showing Miss Felix either running or walking along beeches or hot southern streets — but aside from establishing Miss Felix’s stamina, they add little to the general quality of the entertainment.

Piccadilly Palace, on Channel 9, starred Millicent Martin and Bruce Forsyth and if it offered up nothing new, it at least looked as if more effort and money had gone into it than the Rolf Harris and Julie Felix shows put together.

Gloss

The script had some good situation sketches and some of Millicent Martin’s dancing numbers were very effective. It was basically the same tired stuff, but a gloss of professionalism made it more palatable.

On the Continent, this type of light entertainment has acquired a brightness and vivacity and flair that no one over here seems capable of matching.

Film is imaginatively used to extend the barriers of the studio. Dance numbers are organised to please the eye and take advantage of all the electronic aids that are now available to directors.

Although British TV leads the world in most fields, it has consistently trudged along in the rear as far as musical variety is concerned. It may well be that the British public is content with nothing better than soporific comforters to while away the hours until the grave, but that is no reason why TV executives should be content to give them nothing better.

The post Take a high stool, then add a roll neck – and you’ve got a show! appeared first on THIS IS MY 1960s from Transdiffusion.

A GLOSSY brochure has landed on my desk proudly announcing the BBC’s plans for sport coverage on TV during 1968. Just, as two years ago, the diadem in their sports programme was the World Cup, this year the Olympic Games in Grenoble and Mexico will be the crowning glory.

Among other compelling events to come perspiring into your living room will be the Test matches between Australia and England; Wimbledon tennis; the Open Championship for golf; Amateur Boxing Championships; motor racing; international athletics; National Swimming Championships; women’s hockey between Britain and Canada; the Royal International Horse Show; Horse of the Year Show.

This you will see in addition to the BBC’s regular programme on sport — Grandstand, Sportsview and Match of the Day — and such national events as the Derby, the Boat Race, the Grand National and the FA Cup Final.

And just in case you have not had your fill of sport’s personalities there is Quiz Ball on Mondays, which pits representatives of soccer teams against each other in what is euphemistically described as a “battle of wits.”

I am not surprised then that when the programme planners totalled up this bonanza of sports coverage they could gleefully reveal that over 1,000 hours of muscular competition would be seen on BBC-1 and BBC-2 during the coming Year.

Temptation

As someone who will watch any games on TV except all-in wrestling (I just cannot believe a moment of this clutch-and-grab drama) the temptation to be glued to the small screen afternoons and evenings during the spring and summer will be tremendous.

But, tempering my enthusiasm is a nudging doubt about my right to indulge myself in such pleasures in 1968. There is no doubt that I cannot watch TV during the day and work at the same time.

Should I be writing an article or a book that will earn the nation valuable dollars or should I be fretting about Mary Rand’s jumping or the chances of Laver winning Wimbledon?

In a year when productivity ranks with patriotism as a national virtue; when stenographers are treated like Stakhanovite heroes because they are working half an hour a day extra; when unions and management have been exhorted by Government and Press to put in extra effort and extra time at the bench and the desk, the BBC blithely proclaims its intention to devote almost 25 pc of its output to sport — a good deal of which will be shown in the afternoon as a counter-attraction to work!

Keen sports fan that I am, it seems a serious mistake in judgment to devote over 1,000 hours to sport in 1968 when the BBC’s total output will be little over 4,000 hours.

The thought seems fleetingly to have occurred to Peter Dimmock, chief of BBC Sport, who, in his brochure, asks the question: Is there too much sport on television?”

The answer, according to Mr. Dimmock, is an emphatic “No. Why? Live TV is the best shop window that any sport can have”, he explains, “and the audience figures demonstrate the demand.

“In these days of a wide choice in leisure, major sports need TV to remain ‘fashionable’ and keep people interested so that to-day’s viewer becomes to-morrow’s spectator or participant”.

In other words, the BBC has a duty to perpetuate sport for sport’s sake. Nothing about competing forms of entertainment that might also like to become “fashionable” such plays, discussions, documents, satire or pop.

Nothing about why sport should be awarded 25 pc of the BBC’s TV hours and the rest of the multitudinous activities of the British people should be crammed into the remaining 75 pc of screen time.

Nor nothing about whether the national interest is served by this concentration of sport aimed at encouraging us to become either players or watchers.

Passion

If I were Chancellor of the Exchequer I might be asking myself whether there was any correlation between our stagnant rate of production and our growing passion for sport and its concomitant activity – gambling.

There can be no doubt that the televising of horse racing has increased the volume of betting on horses. Any day that racing is televised, the gross takings of bookmakers goes up substantially.

The recent ban on racing, due to the foot-and-mouth epidemic, coincided with an unprecedented spending spree in the shops before Christmas.

The orthodox explanation for this spree was the fact that buyers feared increased purchase taxes and were stocking up while goods were cheaper.

Another explanation was that something like £60m. [£890m in today’s money, allowing for inflation – Ed] which would normally have been turned over in racing during these few weeks, suddenly landed in the handbags of housewives whose husbands found themselves with an unaccustomed few pounds in their pockets.

No one suggests that horseracing should be banned. But a more logical approach to the nation’s needs would be to concentrate racing on two days of the week — preferably Saturdays and Sundays (when Sundays become freer) — and to see that TV does not unduly encourage the betting habit by too many televised meetings. This is also a reason for discouraging the Pay TV channel, which would undoubtedly extend its racing services if it were allowed to survive.

Impossible

How many working hours the BBC will cost the nation this summer by its televising of Wimbledon, the Test matches and the Olympic Games is impossible to assess. But it will certainly be considerable.

Is there not a case — this year, at least — for cutting down the BBC’s obsession with sport rather than intensifying it?

The post Sport – Has this now been made the new British vice? appeared first on THIS IS MY 1960s from Transdiffusion.

This week my ITV programmes are coming from Rediffusion and ATV London.

14th April
Meet the Wife ‘The Bed’
BBC Television

We start the week with a prime time repeat. First shown as part of Comedy Playhouse a few months ago, Meet the Wife has got a series. Thora and Fred are a middle aged couple who like to bicker but nonetheless love each other very much and Thora decides that after twenty five years of marriage, they need a new bed. I absolutely loved this programme. The two leads are marvellous and they need to be as, apart from scenes with a bed salesman, they are the sole speaking characters. I found the scenes in the bed shop interesting as both Thora and Fred are extremely reluctant to lie down on the beds in the middle of the shop. They both seem embarrassed by the idea. Fred in particular is initially perfectly willing to buy a bed without having tried it out. To me, testing a new, expensive mattress while in a shop seems completely reasonable yet the salesman has to coax them both into it.

From their conversation throughout the episode, we discover Fred is a plumber. He also likes a drink and a flutter. He had a big win recently and Thora believes he’s blown it all but later discovers he’s bought her a new dressing gown for their anniversary. No children are mentioned and they wouldn’t be the only married sitcom couple without any. I would like to see more of Thora and Fred.

16th April
Petticoat Junction
Rediffusion, London

This US sitcom was astoundingly twee. A family run a hotel near a small town. I am rather sceptical about how much trade they get. Herbie, who works in a nearby store, gets called up for his military service. The ladies from the hotel are encouraging but another local lad predicts he will be quite useless. He’s right. Herbie is let go because he just isn’t up to scratch. He’s ashamed so a plan is put in place to make it appear he’s been invalided out after committing some heroic deeds. It is all so sweet, old fashioned and nice, and frankly it makes me sick.

17th April
The Dick Van Dyke Show ‘One Angry Man’
BBC Television

I know Dick Van Dyke because I imagine it’s quite unusual to reach adulthood without seeing Mary Poppins or Chitty Chitty Bang Bang broadcast over a bank holiday. Dick did not feature too heavily in this episode, which was a shame because I would have liked to have seen more of him. Nonetheless, I was impressed with this comedy. The plot was secondary for me as the writing was strong enough. I’d certainly watch more episodes.

18th April
The Telegoons ‘The Underwater Mountain’
BBC Television

I should be watching ‘The Dreaded Batter Pudding Hurler of Bexhill-on-Sea’ but technical difficulties mean I am instead watching last week’s episode. This is a television adaption of the highly successful radio series of The Goon Show. I have listened to several episodes of the radio series so the voices are all familiar to me, along with several of the characters, who are here presented in puppet form.

The Goon Show always conjures up images of magnificent worlds so seeing these absurd realities come to life, even in puppet-form, is fantastic. In this episode, Seagoon wants to climb a mountain that is taller than Mount Everest. After attempting to build one and then being unable to work out how to flip Mount Everest on its side, it is suggested there is already a mountain taller than Mount Everest. The only snag is it’s underwater. Seagoon sets off looking for it, asking for help along the way. “Hello, is Pearl in?” “No, I’m her mother.” “Of course! You must be Mother of Pearl!” The Telegoons was so much fun.

Dr. Who ‘The Velvet Web’
BBC Television

It feels like I have been in the 1960s for ages before Dr. Who has come along. I have seen all of 1960s’ Dr. Who because a few years ago I decided to watch them all in broadcast order. It’s an interesting way of watching a long-running show develop. Prior to this, I hadn’t seen many episodes from the show’s first few years and I haven’t revisited them since. This also makes it the first series I’ve encountered during my time travels that I actually know quite well already.

This is the second episode of a serial that has come to be known as ‘The Keys of Marinus’. The Doctor and his companions have been tasked with travelling to collect numerous keys, the exact purpose of which I forget. In this episode, they find themselves in a place where they are provided with the finest things, including food and clothes. While historian Barbara reclines and the Doctor’s granddaughter, Susan, orders a bespoke dress, my favourite former schoolteacher-turned-action-man Ian is suspicious. How can all this be free? There must be some true cost.

When they are sleeping, a woman comes around and places discs on their foreheads but Barbara’s falls off. When she wakes, the others have been devouring food and drink from beautiful cutlery. But when the camera becomes Barbara’s point of view, she can see that it’s actually all rubbish. The water is murky, the cups are old and battered, while Susan’s dress is rags.

I thought this fake world with a perception filter was a marvellous idea. It also gives the character of Barbara the opportunity to be centre stage. The episode ends with Susan moving on to the location for next week’s episode, ‘The Screaming Jungle’. I am quite happy to leave Susan there screaming because the character’s regular whining does my head in.

The Morecambe and Wise Show
ATV London

I tune in briefly to catch The Beatles performing on the show, both musically and comedically, though poor Ringo doesn’t get to join in on the latter. This was actually recorded by ATV back in December but anyone who was worried that the band were a passing fad could relax – they were number one in the charts both when the programme was recorded and when it was broadcast, with She Loves You and Can’t Buy Me Love respectively. Among the songs they performed on the show was I Want to Hold Your Hand, which is currently (just) in the top 50.

Aside from Christmas specials, I haven’t seen a lot of Morecambe and Wise and it has all been from later years. I was not aware they had been on television this early so it was a treat to see them both looking so young. It’s nice to know the ‘short, fat, hairy legs’ joke stretched back so far.

20th April
BBC Two

Tonight is the first night of broadcasting on the first new television channel for nine years: BBC Two. To say it was disappointing would be something of a catastrophic understatement. It was a disaster and I was treated to about ten minutes of it. What was ‘it’? An enormous electrical failure prevented any programmes being transmitted so viewers were left with a gentleman, Gerald Priestland, reading out the news. Occasionally he is interrupted by a telephone call but it all comes to nothing.

Among the interesting things to note is the large number two in the studio. I hope this was used as an ident because I think it’s beautiful. The first item on the news is that a bus conductress has made an apology and been reinstated, after previously being dismissed for “calling Pakistani passengers filthy wogs”. Well. The slur is bleeped out on the version I saw but it was an eye-opener into the reality of the age. The Scottish church are against commercial sport on Sundays, which made me wonder just when it became more common. The church reckon “serious thought and reading” are more suitable activities. Construction workers on the new Nottingham University building celebrated the near-completion with free beer before it was decided they were a little too “light-hearted” to continue work in the afternoon.

Finally, Gerald refers to BBC One and BBC Two as “channel one” and “channel two” and this seems strange and so very wrong.

What you could have won – missing and unavailable

Here are some of the listings that intrigued me but I was unable to watch this week.

MISSING This Is Your Life: Dominique Pire – I vaguely remember my parents watching the later incarnation of This Is Your Life, presented by Michael Aspel, but otherwise I’ve seen little. To help keep the episode’s ‘victim’ a secret, the series was broadcast live and as a result most of it is missing. This version is presented by Eamonn Andrews. It would soon take a five-year break before returning on ITV. A look over the people featured in the episodes that do exist reveals few names I know, but I’m even more intrigued by the odd military title. I had thought the show only featured celebrities but this revealed to me that other, perhaps less well-known, noteworthy figures were also included.

UNKNOWN The Budget/Budget Day – Allotted a decent chunk of the afternoon on both BBC and ITV, these live broadcasts are presumed missing. Yet it would be a fascinating insight into the state of the country as well as a look at 1964’s idea of instant analysis. Also, after over a decade in power, the Conservatives would lose the October 1964 General Election to Labour, so I’d be curious to see how, with hindsight, they made some wrong moves here.

UNKNOWN Top marks to Rediffusion for the scheduling triumph of Exploring the Universe – ‘When scientists reach the moon, they may discover the answer to man’s oldest puzzle – the creation of the universe’ followed by Last Programme ‘Why I Believe: The Existential View of Christianity’.

UNAVAILABLE The Villains – All three series of this Granada drama exist. Producer Harry Kershaw described the series: “Our stories will be slanted towards criminal lives rather than crimes. We are, in fact, interested in the part of a criminal’s day when he isn’t engaged in his particular profession.”

An episode from the second series, broadcast later in 1964, was the first Granada drama to be recorded entirely on location, on videotape. From the little I have found out, the series also seems to have emphasised regionalism in its episodes, fostered by writers like Peter Eckersley. He wrote this week’s episode and, along with several other writers of The Villains, also wrote for Coronation Street at the time – Eckersley wrote the episode I watched in 1963. He went on to briefly produce the series too before becoming Head of Drama at Granada. As far as I’m concerned, The Villains has outstanding credentials so I’m hoping it will get a release one day.

The post Back in time for TV: 14-20 April 1964 appeared first on THIS IS MY 1960s from Transdiffusion.

The new BBC-2 was slow to spread across the country, and people were slower still to buy the new 625-line sets and put up the new UHF aerials required to receive it.

Even if you were in a good reception area for your standard VHF television pictures, the results on BBC-2 were often disappointing; on top of that, early adopters of monochrome 625-line sets soon found themselves with redundant technology when colour programmes started being transmitted by the new channel.

Finally, just to really stink the viewers off, BBC-1 endlessly promoted what was on BBC-2 that evening, next week or now, giving us glimpses of the occasional brilliant show that we couldn’t receive even if we wanted to.

BBC-2, all in all, was not a popular innovation.

And then, in 1967, came The Forsyte Saga. A lavish production, adapted from five pieces of early 20th century writing by John Galsworthy into 26 parts shown every Saturday evening for six months, the last black and white drama serial to be made by the BBC.

Suddenly, everybody wanted – needed – BBC-2. People who already had 625-line sets could profitably invite others without to watch with wine and nibbles, oiling the social wheels. Television rental shops found that – at last! – people were seeking to upgrade to 625-line after years of resistance. The public view of BBC-2 turned from an annoyance to an accepted part of the British media landscape.

And then the series got a repeat on BBC-1, this time on Sunday evenings and now to a mass audience. And 18 million of us tuned in to follow the ups and downs of the upper middle classes either side of the first world war.

The post The Forsyte Saga appeared first on THIS IS MY 1960s from Transdiffusion.

In the 1960s, we all went out and got colour television sets.

Except, of course, we didn’t. Colour sets were expensive, and until midway through November 1969, the only colour programmes were on BBC-2 and they were mostly very dull, if you could get BBC-2 where you were – something by no means guaranteed.

Even BBC-2 had only slowly been introducing colour, with a full-colour service not appearing until December 1967, well over a year since the first programmes began to be marked “COLOUR” in the Radio Times.

In November 1969, colour came to Thames/LWT, ATV, Granada and Yorkshire, plus BBC-1 in those regions. It would slowly spread across the country, with the Channel Islands being the last to get colour in 1976 and the old VHF 405-line black and white service not being switched off until 1983.

Sales of colour licences – double the cost of a black and white licence at first – didn’t overtake black and white licences nationally until 1977.

The post Colour TV appeared first on THIS IS MY 1960s from Transdiffusion.