PAMELA’S LAST DAY.

By Bob French

Jill Burnham sat looking out over Huntington Beach just west of the small town of Costa Mesta in California.  It was turning seven on a Friday evening, one of the best times of the day; the groaning sound of traffic on Highway 55, replaced by the gentle sound of the waves as they gently crept up the sandy beach, and the exotic birds that came out to serenade the beach lovers and tourists.  If the air was clear, you could see all the way out to Cataline Island.  Jill was at the top of her game in the high-end sales department of Partridge and Partridge, the estate agents to the movie-stars.

Bartram McKensie worked up state Los Angelese, in the blue-chip market place of fast-moving stocks and shares, futures, bonds, and foreign banking, which Jill found thoroughly boring. Their relationship was an unspoken arrangement, woven into the fabric of their busy lives.  Neither of them had time for romantic entanglements, but when a rare free evening presented itself, they would meet up and dine at Mario’s over at Long Beach or some of the other renown restaurants in LA.  Indulging in fleeting moments of companionship before returning to their respective financial empires.

Jill felt mentally and physically drained.  It had been an extremely busy fortnight, ending at lunch on, with her closing a multimillion-dollar deal with one of the stars who’d chose to remain anonymous. There had been much drinking to her success, and as the sun gradually faded behind the western horizon, Jill closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, oblivious of the prearranged dinner date with Bartram at Santa Monaca’s best fish restaurant at eight.

Monday morning Jill was up early and was in work by half Seven.  Met by her dizzy secretary, Pamela, she settled in to studying the markets, whilst Pamela supplied her with copious cups of double latte with three brown sugars and a Danish.

Jill always held her meetings with her staff at mid-day on Monday’s, to go over the properties that had been flagged up earlier.   Jill felt uncomfortable.  So far Pamela had not made any blunders which disturbed her, then realized as she glanced around the room that she’d forgotten to circulate the agenda for the meeting. As Jill and her area managers were still on a high from last Friday’s drinks, everyone seemed to grin and get on with the meeting.

It was coming to the end of the meeting when Jill suddenly sat up, as though someone had just slapped her across the back of the head.  She had just remembered that she was supposed to have met Bartram in Santa Monica last Friday evening.  She knew that sometime today she would have to apologize to him; something she hated doing.  Ignoring the winding up briefings from the various area managers, Jill decided that she had had enough of this pretend affair with Bartrum. she wanted something with a little more zing, something that would make her feel good inside, relaxed and carefree. Bill from down Santa Anna way popped his head in to Jill’s office. 

“I have had a good look at the French chateau in Le Bouscit near Bourdeaux Jill. Very promising.  I visited it last week and the owner of the Chateau is a chap call Maurice du Champion.  Speaks good English. He is also the bank manager of the town. I‘ve left a report with Pam.”

It was just past two in the afternoon and Jill had been trying to convince herself that this casual affaire with Bartram wasn’t what she wanted, but each time she tried to come to a decision, her mind told her to just wait a little longer.  Then the door to her office burst open. Pamela rush in, note pad at the high port, and in a complete flummox.

“Jill, it’s him, on the phone!”

Jill staired at Pamela, and slowly stood.  “Who is it on the phone Pam?”

“Its him, the bank man, you know.”  Jill froze.  She had made her mind up to dump Bertrum once and for all, but she felt unsure of herself.  Could she do it?  They have been friends for nearly six years.

“Thank you, Pam, put him through on my private line then switch off your line, No interruptions until I tell you, understand?”

Jill sat there in silence, staring at the little red winking light on her telephone. Her thoughts going over and over in her head. She knew He was going to call her and rebuke her for missing Friday’s date and she dreaded it. God! it was only a dinner date.  She spoke out loud  “I shall take command of the situation and tell him straight how she felt about him, and more to the point, that she didn’t want to see him again. Don’t let him get control of the conversation, just tell him what you expect in a relationship. Then she took a deep breath.

“Before I explain, I want to get something off my chest.  I’m sorry but what I want in a relationship is something you don’t seem capable of providing, I want to meet you at my front door after a busy day, slowly remove your clothes, item by item, smother you in kisses, as you devour me.  Then have slow and crazy sex with me on the sitting room floor, before you pick me up and take me gently to my double bed where I want you to explore every part of my body until I drift off into oblivion.  After that I want to sit naked in bed with you, drinking iced champaign and eating lobster sandwiches and watching Fifty Shades of Grey. Then, as mid-night chimes, I want you to take me down town to Saint Philippes, on fifty first and second and dance exotically like those young Latin kids until I wet my pants.” 

She heard him try to but in, but she was having none of it.

“Don’t interrupt me, just listen!  After leaving Saint Philippes, I want you to take me down to Emerald Bay and swim naked and dance in the sand as the tide gently come in.”  Jill took a deep breath, then eased herself back into her plush office chair. 

“Well what have you got to say?”

There was a short pause. Then she heard a voice that she didn’t recognize.

 “Well I can certainly fulfil your desires up until I take you dancing down at Saint Phillips, then I think you lost me.”

Jill suddenly sat forward. “I’m sorry, who is this?”

“Maurice du Champion.  I hope I am speaking to Ms Jill Burnham?”

Jill stood up, pushing her chair back and screamed at the top of her voice. “Pamela, get your sorry backside in here!”

Copyright Bob French

 A SUMMER WOOING                                     

By Richard Banks                    

The seven-fifteen from platform two was leaving the station, slowly gathering speed as it turned the bend in the track that pointed it towards Bransford. The last passenger to board the train took her seat in the half empty carriage and observed the streets and houses of the town give way to a field of barley. She recalled the winter months when the field was nothing more than dark clods of mud and the trees beyond it leafless skeletons. In a week or two the field would be harvested, the first step back into winter. She repressed a shiver and consoled herself that it was only August and that September days were sometimes the warmest of the year.

         What was it that Granny used to say when summer lingered on into autumn? It was an old expression not much heard now; something about India. Yes, that was it, an Indian Summer. When July or August were cool and wet, Granny always held out the prospect of an Indian summer just like those she claimed to remember from her youth: “September days so warm you could have fried an egg on the pavement.” The woman smiled, but Granny sometimes got it right. September when it came could be warm, a golden month made precious by the knowledge that summer dresses must soon give way to warmer clothes.

         The woman unfastened her handbag and extracted a compact which opened to reveal a mirror. She anxiously studied her face counting the lines that radiated from the corner of her eyes. There were three on either side of her face, the same as yesterday, the same as four weeks ago when she first noticed them. Was the middle one slightly longer? She wasn't sure. For now the application of a little cream would render them invisible. But first there was mascara to apply.

         Gerry liked girls who took trouble with their appearance. She knew this, he had a roving eye and a wagging tongue like other guys in the office. From their conversations she learned that Gerry liked brunets with shoulder length hair, slim girls with made-up faces and long legs, fashionable girls in silk blouses and pleated skirts that terminated several inches above their knees. Gerry seemed to have an obsession with pleated skirts which was weird she thought because no one made them now except that Romanian firm on the net which she had found after several long hours of searching.

         Now that she had changed, morphed into Gerry's perfect girl it was only a matter of time before he realised what she already knew, that they were a perfect match. For now, the focus of his attention was Cloey but this was ridiculous and could never be. Cloey was far too young and flighty for Gerry. He needed an older woman in the summer of her life, not a spring chicken with a voice to match. Why could Gerry not see this? The poor man was forever attracting unsuitable women. First there was Janey who fell off the stepladder while putting up the Christmas decorations. Didn't look so cute with her neck in a brace; no wonder Gerry dumped her. By the time she was back from sick leave Gerry had moved on to Deborah, that snotty girl in Personnel who didn't like being called Debby. But Deborah was just using him, stringing him along and when she sent that text to Janey detailing the deficiencies of Gerry's 'little acorn', Janey inflicted her come-uppance by copying it to everyone in the office.

         Poor Gerry, how humiliating for him. Who could blame him for complaining to his head of section and having them both sacked? That's when he needed the affection of an older, more mature woman, one who truly loved him. While the other girls were still sniggering she was his rock, at first his only true friend and then, gradually, almost without him noticing, a closer attachment began to form.

         It was going so well, then Cloey arrived, Deborah's replacement, and Gerry's wandering eyes began wandering all over her hour glass figure. He should have realised his mistake when she fell over drunk in the Kings Head that lunchtime and was unwell on the carpet. Instead he picked her up, plied her with coffee and saw her onto her train at Charing Cross. Since then their 'by chance' meetings about the office had become too frequent to ignore. Even more worrying was the rumour that they had been seen together in the Memphis Grill. Then she saw them for herself, together on that park bench, snogging like it was an Olympic event. She turned back on her heels and found a bench of her own where her tears might also have set new records. It was over, she thought. No one could have tried harder, how had she failed?

         The negativity of her thoughts astounded her. She stopped crying and dried her eyes. Emotion was giving way to rational thought. Failure was not an option she told herself. She was a positive person who made things happen, this was no more than a clearing shower. That's what Granny said when dark clouds gathered and the rain set-in driving her and the other children into Grannies scullery. No matter how black the clouds Granny was always adamant that the rain was nothing more than a clearing shower, that within minutes, an hour at most, the sun would be back out, a yellow blaze in a deep blue sky. Not for the first time the memory of Granny's boundless optimism brought a smile to her face; there would, she resolved, be no more rainy days in her life.

         The train pulled into Bransford. The woman returned her mirror and lipstick to her handbag and observed the City bound commuters hurry into the carriage and occupy the remaining seats. Her make-up completed, her mind was fully focussed on what must be done at the next station. Up to now she had been merely mischievous: the tilting of the ladder on which Janey was standing, the sending of that text on Deborah's unattended mobile – what a wheeze that had been – and finally the Mickey Finn in Cloey's drink. The present situation, however, called for something more serious, anything less would not be enough. Her plan was simple, high risk, but the stakes were high. She told herself that desperate times required desperate measures, but that once done, all would be well. She drank from a flask; the liquid reinforced her resolve, gave her confidence, repressed those what if doubts. But what if she did nothing and let things be? No, nothing could be worse than that.

         Not a moment too soon the train arrived at Milstead Junction. The woman alighted and made her way to the coffee bar on the London bound platform. This was where Cloey stopped for a cappuccino and croissant on her way to the office. The woman knew this because Cloey had told her so, “her life saver” she called it, her reward for dragging herself out of bed at seven a.m. It was not long before she made her entrance.

         The woman attracted her attention and beckoned at the empty seat beside her from which she had removed her handbag. Cloey looked surprised, then nervous, but was reassured by the woman's friendly expression. It was not difficult to switch the paper cups on the table in front of them, the same unsampled coffees filled close to the brim. They talked like the friends they were not, silly girlish stuff that the woman had outgrown but still remembered. Cloey yawned, her eyes struggling to stay open; the pills in her cup were taking effect. Timing now was everything. The woman put on her white sun hat with the wide, floppy brim that might have dipped down over her eyes had it not been for the large frames of her dark glasses. “It's time to go,” she said, “the 7.55 is due.” The woman guided her companion, from the café and stood her on the edge of the platform as their fellow commuters formed irregular lines either side and behind them.

         Only a single, piston-like movement was needed, the firm pressure of an open palm in the small of Cloey's back, too quick, too subtle for TV imaging or human eye. It was said that she fell slowly, arms out wide, her thin cotton dress billowing like a butterfly in an unexpected breeze. The woman closed her eyes and from her darkness heard all: the braking of the train, a juddering thud, the screams and shouts of those whose eyes were open. These 'details' she would banish from her memory, lose in some unacknowledged place along with all she did see: the dark splashes on the track, the ashen face of the driver as he pushed open the door of his cab.

         The woman withdrew unobtrusively from the platform and completed her journey to work by bus. Later that day or maybe the next, the news of Cloey's death would reach the office. When it did she would express the same sentiments of grief and disbelief as everyone else, but most of all she would be there for Gerry. More than ever he would need that special friend who could be so much more. In time he would realise this, how could he not, and when he did, nothing would ever come between them again.

         There he was at his work station opening his emails. Time to take him his post, to perch herself on the edge of his desk and flirt, tell jokes, laugh when he told his. The dark clouds were gathering but soon the sun would shine.         

                                                                                  Copyright Richard Banks                                                                                                            

Sci-fi ku

 Sci-fi ku 

 (To hear commentary on the three short listed poems click on the link below)

https://poetrypea.com/5752-2/

 

sky ladder

the Devil’s tongue licks

the stars

 

by Robert Kingston

Honourable mention

Poetry pea 2024

Your Words on Spring

  

Your Words on Spring

By Jane Goodhew

 

Listening to your words on Spring

As I walked past a tree bare of leaves                  

I heard a cacophony of sound

That could have filled the Albert Hall

Looking up I saw so many birds happy that they were back    

 

                

 

And looking down there was green

Of stems pushing through the once frozen soil

And soon a flower would bloom

 

If you wander through the woods

You may already spot

The snowdrop standing bold upright

Like a guard outside the palace

But being shy they prefer to stay protected

Beneath the sturdy oak

With a white cap upon their pretty heads

So, they may blend in with any lingering flurries of snow or fros 

                                     

Unlike the golden daffodil

So bold and bright      

Who reminds you of the sun

That is trying so hard to shine

Go further out and in the fields

Lambs are suckling from their mothers breast.

 

                                   

 

If they hear you, they may run as startled by the sound

But she just stands her ground knowing they will soon come skipping back

So, they can snuggle up to her At night 

when they will be disturbed by blood curdling howls of Foxes

As he prowls the land looking for his mate

Or a tasty meal for his first date

Copyright Jane Goodhew

 

Roys Dilema

 Roys Dilema 

By Sis Unsworth 

Roy felt quite despondent, as he lay in the hospital bed.

He thought back through his life, He’d done everything they said.

They told him to stop smoking, and cut down on the booze,

he’d always walked and exercised, like they told him on the news.

The flu jab he’d complied with, and the Covid vaccine too,

when he considered everything, there’s not much more he could do.

Being an older gentleman, filled Roy with apprehension,

Someone said we live too long, they can’t afford our pension.

Now he felt quite guilty, that he did what he’d been told,

If he hadn’t taken notice, He’d not have grown so old.

But what really did upset him, he heard what the nurse just said.

“He must go to a different place, he’s blocking up a bed…”

 

Copyright Sis Unsworth

TV in the UK ~ (The Early Years)

 TELEVISION IN BRITAIN – THE EARLY YEARS

By Richard Banks

TELEVISION IN THE UK WILL ALWAYS BE ASSOCIATED WITH THE INVENTOR, JOHN LOGIE BAIRD, THE BBC AND THE CORPORATION’S FIRST DIRECTOR GENERAL, JOHN REITH.

BAIRD’S INVOLVEMENT CAME FIRST.  IN THE RACE TO DEVELOP A WORKABLE TV SERVICE HIS MECHANICAL SYSTEM TOOK AN EARLY LEAD WHEN, IN 1926, HE TRANSMITTED MOVING IMAGES TO MEMBERS OF THE ROYAL INSTITUTION AND A REPORTER FROM THE TIMES, AT AN ADDRESS IN FRITH STREET, SOHO. THIS IS GENERALLY CONSIDERED TO BE THE FIRST PUBLIC DEMONSTRATION OF TELEVISION ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD.

BAIRD’S TELEVISION COMPANY HAD BEEN LICENSED BY THE POST OFFICE IN 1925 TO CONDUCT SHORT EXPERIMENTAL TRANSMISSIONS THAT WERE WATCHED BY THE 100 OR SO PERSONS THEN OWNING TV SETS. SELFRIDGE'S WERE THE FIRST STORE TO OFFER THEM FOR SALE.  REALISING THAT HE NEEDED A MORE POWERFUL TRANSMITTER TO BROADCAST HIS PROGRAMMES BAIRD APPROACHED THE BBC TO USE THE ONE THEY HAD FOR RADIO TRANSMISSIONS.  SOMEWHAT RELUCTANTLY THE CORPORATION AGREED ALLOWING BAIRD TO USE IT DURING THE LATE EVENING / EARLY MORNING WHEN NOT NEEDED FOR RADIO. A SECOND TRANSMITTER ACQUIRED SOON AFTER BY THE BBC WAS ALSO USED BY BAIRD. 

BAIRD’S TELEVISION COMPANY AND THE BBC COLLABORATED ON REGULAR TELEVISION BROADCASTS FOR SEVEN YEARS FROM 1929. DURING THIS TIME THE FIRST EVER TV PLAY WAS BROADCAST (‘THE MAN WITH THE FLOWER IN HIS MOUTH’) AS WAS THE DERBY IN 1931 – THE WORLD’S FIRST OUTSIDE TV BROADCAST. 

HOWEVER, THE BBC WAS BECOMING INCREASINGLY SCEPTICAL ABOUT BAIRD’S 32 LINE, MECHANICAL SYSTEM WHICH WAS CUMBERSOME TO OPERATE AND UNLIKELY TO ATTRACT MANY VIEWERS ON ACCOUNT OF ITS POOR PICTURE QUALITY.  A RIVAL ELECTRONIC SYSTEM DEVELOPED BY MARCONI - EMI USING CATHODE-RAY TUBES TRANSMITTED MUCH CLEARER PICTURES MADE-UP OF 405 LINES. 

IN 1934 POLITICS INTERVENED WHEN THE GOVERNMENT SET-UP THE SELSDON COMMITTEE TO CONSIDER THE FUTURE OF TELEVISION BROADCASTING. IT RECOMMENDED THAT TELEVISION BE ESTABLISHED AS A PUBLIC SERVICE AND THAT A REGULAR, HIGH DEFINITION SERVICE BE BROADCAST BY A SINGLE PROVIDER, THE BBC. THE COMMITTEE FURTHER RECOMMENDED THAT THE TWO RIVAL SYSTEMS COMPETE AGAINST EACH OTHER IN A TRIAL TO DECIDE WHICH OF THEM SHOULD BE USED. 

THE CONTEST TOOK PLACE AT THE ALEXANDRA PALACE, THE MAIN BUILDING IN A RUN-DOWN ENTERTAINMENTS’ COMPLEX, PART OF WHICH HAD BEEN LEASED BY THE BBC. THIS WAS THE LONDON STATION FROM WHICH TRANSMISSIONS WERE  MADE. BAIRD IMPROVED HIS 32 LINE SYSTEM TO 240 LINES BUT IT PROVED NO MATCH FOR ITS RIVAL. AFTER ONLY THREE MONTHS OF A SIX MONTH TRIAL EMI – MARCONI WERE DECLARED THE WINNER AND BBC TELEVISION FORMALLY COMMENCED OPERATIONS IN NOVEMBER 1936. 

THE GUIDING PRINCIPLES OF THE NEW SERVICE HAD BEEN ESTABLISHED 14 YEARS EARLIER IN 1922 WHEN THE BRITISH BROADCASTING COMPANY WAS ESTABLISHED BY ROYAL CHARTER TO BE THE NATION’S SOLE BROADCASTER OF RADIO PROGRAMMES. JOHN REITH, A STERN SCOTTISH CALVINIST WAS APPOINTED TO RUN THE NEW SERVICE. HE WAS DETERMINED THAT IT SHOULD NOT FOLLOW IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF AMERICAN RADIO STATIONS WHICH IN PURSUIT OF ADVERTISING REVENUE BROADCAST ONLY POPULAR ENTERTAINMENT. THE BBC,  HE INSISTED,  SHOULD INFORM, EDUCATE AND ENTERTAIN HENCE ESTABLISHING A HIGH MORAL TONE WHICH SET THE STANDARD FOR ALL PUBLIC SERVICE BROADCASTING IN THE UK. LATER HE DECLARED HIS GOAL WAS TO BROADCAST ‘ALL THAT IS BEST IN EVERY DEPARTMENT OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE, ENDEAVOUR AND ACHIEVEMENT’. 

THE BBC’S RELATIONSHIP WITH GOVERNMENT WAS FROM THE BEGINNING AN UNCERTAIN ONE. REITH WANTED THE BBC TO BE INDEPENDENT OF GOVERNMENT BUT DID THIS STRETCH TO ITS REPORTAGE OF NEWS? WAS THE BBC TO BE THE MOUTHPIECE OF GOVERNMENT OR SHOULD IT SEEK TO PROVIDE A BALANCED, UNBIASED VIEW THAT ATTEMPTED TO BE FAIR TO ALL. 

[EXAMPLE OF 1926 GENERAL STRIKE.] 

 IN 1937 THE CORONATION OF GEORGE VI WAS TELEVISED.  IN THE SAME YEAR

 THE WIMBLEDON TENNIS CHAMPIONSHIPS WERE TELEVISED FOR THE FIRST TIME ALONG WITH THE FIRST FOOTBALL MATCH, BETWEEN ARSENAL AND ARSENAL RESERVES. A YEAR LATER BBC’S FOOTBALL COVERAGE MOVED ON TO THE MORE SERIOUS BUSINESS OF A FA CUP FINAL BETWEEN HUDDERSFIELD AND PRESTON NORTH END. THESE TELEVISION FIRSTS WERE WATCHED IN AROUND 20,000 HOUSEHOLDS. 

ON IST SEPTEMBER 1939 TELEVISION IN THE UK WAS SUSPENDED FOR THE DURATION OF WWII. IT RECOMMENCED ON 7 JUNE 1946 WITH A PRE-WAR ANNOUNCER SAYING, “GOOD AFTERNOON EVERYONE. HOW ARE YOU? DO YOU REMEMBER ME, JASMINE BLIGH.”  I, HOWEVER, MISSED THESE WORDS BY FIVE MONTHS NOT BEING BORN UNTIL THE FOLLOWING NOVEMBER. 

OUR HOUSEHOLD, A SMALL MAISONETTE IN LEYTON, NOW PART OF THE LONDON BOROUGH OF WALTHAM FOREST, WAS ONE OF THE FIRST TO HAVE A TELEVISION AS PART OF ITS FIXTURES AND FITTINGS. MY FATHER, ON DEMOB FROM THE ROYAL NAVY IN 1945, RECEIVED A CASH PAYMENT OF £83 WHICH HE INVESTED IN A PYE SET WHICH HAD A NINE INCH SCREEN TO WHICH A CONVEX LENS HAD BEEN FITTED ENLARGING THE PICTURE SIZE TO THIRTEEN INCHES. ALTHOUGH BEARING THE PYE NAME IT WAS NOT DISSIMILAR TO A MODEL AVAILABLE FOR SALE IN 1938 (THE MARCONIPHONE MODEL 709). 

THERE WERE A LIMITED NUMBER OF CONTROLS, AN ON/OFF SWITCH, ONES FOR VOLUME, CONTRAST AND BRIGHTNESS AND TWO MORE FOR CORRECTING PICTURE BREAK-UP OR A LOSS OF VERTICAL HOLD WHICH CAUSED THE PICTURE TO WHIZZ ROUND IN A DIZZYING WHIRL. SOMETIMES WHEN THE CONTROLS PROVED NOT ENOUGH MY FATHER WOULD BATTER THE SET INTO SUBMISSION BY POUNDING IT ON THE SIDE WITH A VEHEMENCE SURPRISING IN ONE WHO NEVER LAID A HAND ON HIS CHILDREN OR, TO MY KNOWLEDGE, ANYONE ELSE.  

THE SET GAVE GOOD SERVICE LASTING WELL INTO THE 1950s. HOWEVER IT BECAME INCREASINGLY PRONE TO BREAKDOWN NECESSITATING THE ATTENDANCE OF A TV REPAIR MAN WHO TO MY HORROR, WOULD SOMETIMES TAKE IT BACK TO HIS PREMISES FOR REPAIR. IN 1955 WHEN ITV CAME INTO BEING MANY PEOPLE HAD THEIR SETS CONVERTED SO THEY COULD RECEIVE THE NEW STATION AS WELL AS BBC. WE DIDN’T. WHY? I DON’T RECALL. MAYBE WE WERE PERFECTLY HAPPY WITH THE BBC’S PROGRAMMES OR MAYBE THE SET WAS BECOMING TOO OLD AND UNRELIABLE TO JUSTIFY THE EXPENDITURE.  WHATEVER THE REASON WE PERSISTED WITH THE PYE FOR A FEW MORE YEARS UNTIL BUYING A NEW SET ABLE TO RECEIVE BOTH CHANNELS. THE PYE WAS DEMOTED TO THE COAL CELLAR OF THE FAMILY’S SECOND HOME WHERE IT MAY STILL HAVE BEEN WHEN THE LAST REMAINING BANKS MOVED OUT IN 1980. 

UNTIL 1956 THERE WERE NO PROGRAMMES BETWEEN 6 – 7PM. THIS PAUSE IN PROGRAMMING WAS INTENDED TO FACILITATE THE PUTTING TO BED OF YOUNG CHILDREN AND WAS KNOWN AS THE TODDLERS’ TRUCE. IT ALSO PROVIDED SOME QUIET TIME FOR OLDER CHILDREN TO GET ON WITH THEIR SCHOOL WORK. ON SUNDAYS THERE WERE NO PROGRAMMES BETWEEN 6.15 & 7.25PM SO AS NOT TO INTERFERE WITH CHURCH ATTENDANCE, OTHERWISE BROADCASTING HOURS WERE 9AM – 11PM DURING THE WEEK, THAT IS MONDAYS TO FRIDAYS, BUT ONLY EIGHT HOURS ON SATURDAYS AND 7 HOURS, 15 MINUTES ON SUNDAYS.

THE NUMBER OF VIEWERS STEADILY INCREASED. A BIG BOOST TO TV OWNERSHIP WAS THE CORONATION OF ELIZABETH II IN 1953. HOWEVER, DESPITE THE RUSH TO BUY SETS, ONLY A MINORITY OF HOUSEHOLDS HAD THEM ON THE BIG DAY – 2,142,000, COMPARED TO 1,449,000 IN 1952 - CONSEQUENTLY THE HOMES OF THOSE WITH TVS WERE OFTEN FULL TO THE BRIM WITH FRIENDS AND RELATIVES. THIS WAS CERTAINLY THE CASE IN THE BANKS HOUSEHOLD WHOSE SMALL LOUNGE WAS FILLED TO CAPACITY. I RECALL THAT THE DAY’S EVENTS WENT ON FAR TOO LONG FOR MY SIX AND A HALF YEAR ATTENTION SPAN. I SPENT MUCH OF THE TIME ON A VERY WET DAY PLAYING IN MY BEDROOM WITH THE OTHER CHILDREN THERE GATHERED OCCASIONALLY RUSHING BACK TO THE LOUNGE TO MAKE SURE WE WEREN’T MISSING ANYTHING. NO DOUBT WE WERE AN UTTER PAIN TO THE ASSEMBLED PARENTS, SAT HUDDLED TOGETHER, PEERING AT THE PYE’S SMALL SCREEN.  

DESPITE THE INCREASING POPULARITY OF TV MANY FAMILIES STOPPED SHORT OF BUYING ONE FEARING THAT IT WOULD REDUCE FAMILY INTERACTIONS, DISCOURAGE READING AND CONVERSATION, THEREBY PRODUCING A NATION OF COUCH POTATOES GAZING PASSIVELY INTO THEIR TV SCREENS. WHAT CAN NOT BE DENIED IS THAT THE TV SET TOOK OVER IN MOST HOUSEHOLDS FROM THE HEARTH AS THE MAIN FOCUS OF FAMILY LIFE. 

DESPITE THE HIGH MORAL TONE OF THE BBC THERE WAS ALSO CONCERN ABOUT UNSUITABLE PROGRAMMES BRINGING UNSAVOURY CONTENT INTO THE SANCTUARY OF THE HOME. IN THE 1950s VIEWERS WOULD HAVE FOUND LITTLE TO COMPLAIN ABOUT BUT WITH THE BBC RESPONDING TO THE SOCIAL CHANGES OF THE 60s AND SOMETIMES AHEAD OF MAINSTREAM PUBLIC OPINION A VIEWER BACKLASH WAS NOT LONG IN COMING HEADED BY THE REDOUBTABLE, MARY WHITEHOUSE.  OFTEN DERIDED IN HER LIFETIME SOCIAL HISTORIANS ARE  NOW  SOMETIMES MORE SYMPATHETIC ABOUT HER EFFORTS TO CLEAN-UP THE AIRWAYS - NOT TO MENTION THE THEATRE AND LITERATURE. 

WHATEVER TV’s EFFECT ON FAMILY LIFE THERE CAN BE NO DOUBT THAT IT HAD A SIGNIFICANT IMPACT ON LIFE BEYOND THE HOME. CINEMA  AUDIENCES PLUMMETED AS WELL AS ATTENDANCES AT OTHER EVENING EVENTS. HOWEVER, PUBLIC HOUSES CONTINUED TO DO GOOD BUSINESS AS DID THE NEW PHENOMENON OF BINGO THAT IN THE 1960s TOOK OVER THE PREMISES OF SOME OF THE REDUNDANT CINEMAS.  TV NEWS COVERAGE ADDED TO PEOPLE’S AWARENESS OF CURRENT AFFAIRS, OFTEN FREEING THEM FROM THE POLITICAL BIASES OF DAILY NEWSPAPERS WHILE TV REDUCED LONELINESS IN ONE PERSON HOUSEHOLDS, AS IT STILL DOES.  

IN THE LATE 40s / EARLY 50s THERE WERE FOUR CONTINUITY ANNOUNCERS ON OUR SCREENS. – MARY MALCOLM, SYLVIA PETERS, MCDONALD HOBLEY AND PETER HAIGH. THEIR JOB WAS TO SMOOTHLY ESCORT VIEWERS FROM ONE PROGRAMME TO THE NEXT AND FILL IN THE GAPS WHEN TECHNICAL OR PRODUCTION PROBLEMS DISRUPTED PROGRAMMES. 

THEY WERE THE FIRST TV CELEBRITIES, ALWAYS IMMACULATELY ATTIRED AND SPEAKING IN POSH, LONDON ACCENTS THAT BECAME KNOWN AS BBC ENGLISH. WHILE MALCOLM AND PETERS ONLY HAD SMALL DRESS ALLOWANCES WITH THE BBC, DEALS WERE STRUCK WITH LONDON FASHION HOUSES AND JEWELLERS WHEREBY THE ANNOUNCERS WERE ABLE TO WEAR THEIR EXPENSIVE WARES WHILE ON AIR. FREE HAIR DRESSING WAS ANOTHER PERK OF THE JOB PAID FOR BY THE BBC IN EXCHANGE FOR THEIR ATTENDANCE AT EVENTS PUBLICISING THE CORPORATION. THEIR MALE COUNTERPARTS, HOBLEY AND HAIGH, WERE EQUALLY RESPLENDENT IN DINNER SUITS AND BOW TIES, NEVER A HAIR OUT OF PLACE

UNBEKNOWN TO MOST PEOPLE IN THE 1950s MARY MALCOLM WAS NOT JUST POSH BUT THE GRAND-DAUGHTER OF EDWARD VII AND LILLY LANGTRY. HER MOTHER, JEANNE-MARIE, WAS THE ONLY ONE OF EDWARD’S ILLEGITIMATE CHILDREN THAT HE PUBLICLY ACKNOWLEDGED. NEVERTHELESS IT WAS LATER CLAIMED THAT JEANNE-MARIE’S FATHER WAS IN FACT PRINCE LOUIS OF BATTENBERG, THE GRANDFATHER OF PRINCE PHILLIP. 

MOST PROGRAMMES WERE BROADCAST LIVE. SUBSEQUENTLY ON-STAGE PROBLEMS ALONG WITH BREAKS IN TRANSMISSION OFTEN BROUGHT PROGRAMMES TO AN ABRUPT HALT. WHEN THIS HAPPENED THE ANNOUNCER’S JOB WAS TO EXPLAIN WHAT WAS HAPPENING AND TO FILL-IN TIME AS BEST THEY COULD. ON ONE OCCASION MALCOLM ADVISED EVERYONE WATCHING TO GO AND MAKE A CUP OF TEA AND SHE WOULD CALL THEM BACK AS AND WHEN SOMETHING HAPPENED. INTERRUPTIONS TO PROGRAMMES COULD SOMETIMES LAST FOR 20 MINUTES OR MORE. TO FILL IN THESE LONGER GAPS A SERIES OF FILMS KNOWN AS INTERLUDES WERE SHOWN UNTIL IT WAS POSSIBLE TO RETURN TO THE SCHEDULED PROGRAMME.  CLEARLY INTENDED TO SOOTH THE FEVERED BROWS OF DISCONTENTED VIEWERS THEY USUALLY SHOWED TRANQUIL SCENES, OFTEN OF COUNTRY LIFE. THERE WAS THE POTTER AT HIS WHEEL CONSTRUCTING A POT, TWO HORSES PLOUGHING A FIELD, A WOMAN AT A SPINNING WHEEL, A WINDMILL TURNING AND KITTENS PLAYING WITH A VARIETY OF PROPS. SOMEWHAT LIVELIER WAS THE LONDON – BRIGHTON TRAIN INTERLUDE SHOWING A SPEEDED-UP FILM OF THE ACTUAL JOURNEY SHOT FROM THE DRIVER’S CABIN. I DON’T RECALL EVER SEEING THE TRAIN ARRIVE BUT OFTEN IT WAS WELL CLEAR OF LONDON BEFORE THE RESUMPTION OF THE SCHEDULED PROGRAMME. 

IN 1955 THE BBC’s MONOPOLY OF TV ENDED WHEN THE GOVERNMENT GAVE THE GREEN LIGHT FOR A SECOND CHANNEL, INDEPENDENT TELEVISION, A PRIVATE SECTOR COMMERCIAL CHANNEL GENERALLY REFERRED TO AS ITV. AS PREVIOUSLY STATED WE CONTINUED FOR A FEW YEARS WITH OUR OLD PYE BEFORE BUYING A  NEW SET THAT SHOWED BOTH CHANNELS. I WAS AN INSTANT FAN OF ITV WHICH FOCUSSED ALMOST ENTIRELY ON POPULAR ENTERTAINMENT, IMPORTING MANY OF ITS PROGRAMMES FROM AMERICA. TO MY GREAT DELIGHT THERE WERE NO END OF COWBOY DRAMAS, PLUS LASSIE, SUPERMAN, AND OTHER ACTION HEROES. IN FAIRNESS TO ITV THEY ALSO MADE OR COMMISSIONED A NUMBER OF HOME GROWN SERIES, SUCH AS ‘THE ADVENTURES OF ROBIN HOOD’, FEATURING RICHARD GREEN IN THE TITLE ROLE ALONG WITH A CAST OF JOLLY OUTLAWS WHO SEEMED TO HAVE BEEN RECRUITED FROM A SQUADRON OF RAF PILOTS. LITTLE JOHN, I RECALL, SPOKE WITH A BROAD SCOTTISH ACCENT WHICH HE MADE NO ATTEMPT TO DISGUISE. ROBERT MOORE GOT A MUCH NEEDED BOOST TO HIS CAREER IN IVANHOE AND ROBERT SHAW BECAME VERY WELL KNOWN FOR HIS PART IN ‘THE BUCCANEERS’. 

GRADUALLY THE DISTINCTION BETWEEN CHILDREN’S PROGRAMMES AND THOSE FOR ADULTS BECAME BLURRED WHEN THE AMERICANS DEVELOPED THE CONCEPT OF ‘ADULT WESTERNS’ WHICH LASTED A FULL HOUR INSTEAD OF THE REGULATION 30 MINUTES. WAGON TRAIN, GUN LAW AND CHEYENNE WERE THREE OF THE MOST POPULAR AMERICAN IMPORTS. ADULT CARTOONS WERE ANOTHER INNOVATION. 

HOWEVER, THE MAIN CHANGE TO PROGRAMMING ON THE NEW CHANNEL WAS THE INTRODUCTION OF COMMERCIAL BREAKS WHICH PRECEDED AND FOLLOWED EACH PROGRAMME AND INTERSECTED THE LONGER ONES. THESE WERE SURPRISINGLY POPULAR AND PREFERRED BY SOME – MAINLY ELDERLY VIEWERS – TO THE ACTUAL PROGRAMMES. WHO CAN FORGET THE NEVER ALONE WITH A STRAND MAN LIGHTING UP HIS CIGARETTE ON A BLEAK, RAIN SWEPT NIGHT IN THE LONDON STREET AFTER WHICH THE CIGARETTE HAD BEEN NAMED. THERE WERE ALSO MURRYMINTS, TOO GOOD TO HURRYMINT, THE SNAP, CRACKLE AND POP OF RICE CRISPIES, THE BROOK BOND TEA CHIMPS AND MANY MORE.

THE ADVERTISING BREAKS BETWEEN PROGRAMMES CLEARLY DEFINED THE ENDING OF ONE PROGRAMME AND THE BEGINNING OF THE NEXT.  THIS ALONG WITH THE INCREASING RELIABILITY OF PROGRAMMES AND TRANSMISSIONS SPELLED THE END FOR CONTINUITY ANNOUNCERS ON BOTH CHANNELS WHO ALMOST ENTIRELY DISAPPEARED FROM PUBLIC VIEW.

ITV, WHILE VERY WELL REGARDED BY MY YOUNG SELF, CAME UNDER HEAVY CRITICISM IN 1962 FROM THE PILKINGTON COMMITTEE FOR ITS LACK OF QUALITY BROADCASTING. CONSEQUENTLY WHEN IT WAS DECIDED TO GO AHEAD WITH A THIRD TV CHANNEL IT WENT TO BBC2. THAT WAS IN 1964. IT WAS THIS CHANNEL THAT BEGAN COLOUR TRANSMISSIONS IN 1967, FOLLOWED, IN 1969, BY ITV AND BBC1 (THE ORIGINAL CHANNEL). 

THE FLEDGLING DAYS OF TELEVISION WERE WELL AND TRULY OVER AND THE BOY IT HAD HELPED NURTURE WAS A YOUNG MAN SIX YEARS OUT OF SCHOOL.                    

Copyright Richard Banks

Haiku from a resident Poet

false hope

a cancer referral
rings off again
a murder of crows circle
the intrusive buzzard

Robert Kingston
Blithe Spirit winter edition 2024



A short sequence

sleepy dawn
hitting the snooze button
for the third time

anchorage
snuggling deeper within
her arms

half awake
my lifts’ hooter at
the front gate

Robert Kingston
The British haiku fb page


common bog
losing a shoe
midway through




Limerick? 

there was a tree named oak

he’d shed all his leaves, no joke

he stood there all bare

throughout winters austere

then in spring, he grew a new cloak

 

Copyright Robert Kingston

 After the Festive Season 

By Sis Unsworth 

It always is the same each year, something I can’t control,

a feeling that takes over me, and invades my very soul.

When Christmas is behind us, and New Year has finally passed,

I’ve made my resolutions, but as usual they won’t last.

We had the winter solstice, way back there in December,

and I’ve started my new diary, one thing I did remember.

Now something else is on my mind, it starts on New Years Eve,

a feeling that takes over me, you really won’t believe.

The festive season now is gone, and January’s here,

the nights start getting lighter, though it takes a while I fear.

I know I should be patient, as it takes sometime you know,

we must get through the winter, there may even be more snow.

The very thing I’m waiting for, obsesses me each day,

some little sign that tells me, that Spring is on its way!

Copyright Sis Unsworth

 Riddles 23

By the Riddler

The Riddler has more puzzles for us today:

No 1.  You are one of ten people in a room. Each person shakes hands once with all the other people in the room.  How many handshakes will take place?

No 2.  The combined age of a father and son is 66.  The father's age is his son,s age with the digits reversed; how old are they?

 

Keep em coming Riddler

 

 A BIRTHDAY PARTY WITH A BANG

By Bob French

The court room was full of chattering parents and kids from Hamilton-Wenham-Regional High, in Essex County. The press were there in force, some looking for the truth, others looking for more dirt on the boy who had got his thirteen year old girlfriend pregnant, stollen dinner money from at least 35 pupils, bullied most of the 12^th grade and virtually destroyed his parent’s house, car, swimming pool and the property of his neighbors on each side of his parent’s house.

          At the High Bench, three empty red velvet backed chairs, were placed.  These belonged to the three court officials, who were currently discussing the evidence presented to the court and the degree of punishment to be awarded, behind closed doors.

          At ten o’clock on the morning of the 12 of September, the front doors to Essex County Court opened, allowing a mob of angry people who had looked forward to this day; the down fall of John Wicks and hopefully the incarceration of one of the most wicked, mischievous, bad-tempered individuals who had ever been allowed[1] to roam the streets of North Hudson.  There were some mutterings among the crowd that if this thug had been caught back a way’s, there would have been a lynching from the grand-oak tree outside the court house in North Hudson rather than a trial.

Suddenly the door behind the high bench opened and the marshal of the court called for everyone to stand and be silent, as the officials took their seats.

The judge, having listened to over six and a half hours of evidence the previous day, from the Sheriff’s Department, Frank Mason, the County Fire Chief, Mr Phillips, the head of the school science department of HWR High, and several pupils in the 12^th grade, took a deep breath and looked up into the angry faces of everyone in his court room. They had been waiting for over two hours whilst he and the other two court officials deliberated over the seriousness of this boy’s crimes.  He banged his gavel for silence…

* * * * * * * * *

          It had all started on the last day of the summer term. It was Mr Phillips last words of encouragement to the science class that he wanted each pupil to create, a project that would benefit and improve the good and welfare of North Hudson, and support this with a 5,000-word thesis. He then explained that the science professor from Wentworth University, Dr Henderson, would judge their project and award a full scholarship to the winner.

As the school bell sounded, heralding the end of term, Mr. Phillips called out over the heads of his departing students’, “Remember! If you want to start you next term as a student of Wentworth University your project has to be spectacular, literally, blow his socks off.”

“Ja mean like a bomb, Sir?”

Mr. Phillips looked at Wicks, the class joker, a nuisance at the best of times, and a young man who was quickly following in his father’s footsteps; an intimidator, a racketeer and a thief and well known to the sheriff’s department.  

“I hope you’re joking Wicks, but metaphorically speaking, yes.”  

As Wicks pushed his way through the rest of the class, closely followed by his hangers-on, he raised his voice so all could hear, “I’m going to build a bomb and blow this class room to kingdom come.”

* * * * * * * * *

          Ben Hastings was the kind of boy most people overlooked, except for the bullies. Ben was a quiet, unassuming seventeen-year-old with a fascination for science, he spent most of his days tinkering with old gadgets, pulling apart machines and dreaming of a future where his inventions would change the world.  But at HWR, he was the favorite target of John Wicks, a loud-mouthed attention seeking bully who took great pleasure in humiliating Ben in front of his friends, including his girlfriend, Janet McClusky.

* * * * * * * * *

 Having avoided the crowds of cheering and hysterical students, Ben made his way to the far end of the sports field where he had arranged to meet Janet.

After a quick kiss, they held hands and wandered down the winding path that ran alongside the river.

Janet spoke first.  “Have you given any thought for your project?”

“Not really.  Have you?”

Janet was silent for a while, then turned to face Ben. “You may think I’m mad, but how about we create a bomb?”

Ben looked into her deep blue eyes and squinted.  “You sure you know what you’re talking about?”

“Look, Wicks has given us a perfect excuse.  I very much doubt that he has the brains to make a bomb.  So, let’s help him.”

“Sorry, but you’ve lost me.”

“Everyone heard him say that he was going to build a bomb, then blow up the classroom. Well, what if we build a bomb and discreetly planted it in his garden shed.  We can detonate it after his birthday party is over.

“What birthday party? I didn’t know there was a birthday party.”

“That is because you didn’t get an invite. He is holding his 18^th birthday party on the weekend before school starts.  Perfect timing to set off a bomb that looks like it was made by Wicks so he could carry out his brag.  ”The first person the sheriff’s department would want to speak to would be Wicks, after his threat.”

“Brilliant idea.  In one fell-swoop, we could get rid of him once and for all.”

By the time they had reached the end of town they had discussed the outline of their plan and how they were going to create a fool-proof alibi.  Ben, now full of enthusiasm wanted to recruit a few of his mates to help with plan but Janet held up her hand.

“I think if this plan is to work, we both must swear an oath of silence.  We must not discuss the plan or write anything down, show an interest publicly or we shall be implicated. I will sit down this evening and draw up the plan.  Then we can discuss it between us. So, if you have any ideas or questions, keep them in your head until tomorrow afternoon.”

* * * * * * * * *

Janet, with the help of Ben and his garden shed, had created a small bomb using a mixture of a thunder flash, CS gas canister, a purple paint bomb and with Ben’s clever idea, a mobile phone detonator.  They then both went through each of their sheds and bed rooms to ensure that anything they used in making the bomb was removed and their sheds were thoroughly cleaned.   All they had to do was smuggle it into the shed in Wick’s back garden prior to his party on the week end before the new term started.

Janet had invited their friends from the science class to an end of summer term barbecue, which would end around ten in the evening. As the light started to fade, Janet asked Ben to get some more Coca-Cola. Ben understood the coded language and slipped discretely through the back gate and into Wick’s back garden. Placed the bomb against some empty petrol cans, then spread around the shed and garden some of the items that had been used to make the bomb, knowing that the fire brigade would find them in the debris.

The bomb, when it had exploded on Saturday before school started, completely destroyed the shed, blew out most of the windows of Wick’s house and those of his neighbors, sprayed everyone who was in the back garden and the pool with purple die and set on fire his father’s BMW.

Within hours, the sheriff’s department, after some simple questioning of the guests at the party, followed the evidence to the son of the Wick’s family.  Then the Fire Department studied some of the components of the bomb with what they found scattered around the garden, then briefed the Sheriff’s Department with what they had found.

* * * * * * * * *

The court room fell silent. The judge looked up from his notes, and cleared his throat.

“After much deliberation, I find you, John Wicks guilty of all the charges laid against you.  The matter of you impregnating a minor will be dealt with by under a separate court hearing, where they will place a financial provision order upon you for the support of the child when it is born.”

Wicks smiled at the people sitting in the public galleries, knowing that the judge could not send him to prison because of his age. The judge, after a pause, looked up again at Wicks.

“As you are no longer a minor, I hereby sentence you to 8 years with no parole in the Massachusetts correction facility.”

Wicks stood and stared at the judge, then screamed, “You can’t I’m a minor. Stop, you’ve got this wrong.  I’m a minor.”

”Take him down, then clear the court.”

In the cool of the evening, Janet and Ben sat on the porch drinking ice cold Coca-Cola. After a period of silence, she draped her arm around Ben’s shoulder and gently kissed the side of his face. 

“Although we could never claim the prize of creating a project that would benefit and improve the good and welfare of our town, it was fun.”

Copyright Bob French

 Riddles 22

 

By the Riddler

 

The Riddler has two puzzles for us today:

 

No 1.  I’m tall when young but short when I’m old.  What am I?

 

No 2.   I’m an odd number, take away one letter and I become even.   What number am I?

 

Keep em coming Riddler