Friday 13 September 1963

This week a new trainee knight at the palace is causing headaches for tutor Sir Geoffrey.  He's Queen Berengaria's cousin Miguel, over from France and rubbing everyone up the wrong way thanks to his "hot Navarrish blood".  The dialogue refers to him as gauche, hot-headed youngster, which makes the casting of the distinctly middle-aged looking Maurice Kaufman seem a bit strange.  Part of the reason Miguel's making a nuisance of himself may be frustration at the fact that nobody seems sure how to pronounce his name, Mig-ell, Mig-well and (most popular) the say-what-you-see Mig-u-el being used interchangeably throughout: several actors try all three, presumably in the hope they'll get it right eventually.

Country bumpkin Miguel, who's never been to a city before, sneaks out of the palace every night against orders to see the bright lights of London (though they probably weren't all that bright in 1194). His favourite haunt's a dockside alehouse (the Sailor and Anchor, which is a pretty uninspired name really), where he's fallen for the charms of serving wench Martha (Lisa Daniely), as well as the wiles of a group of crooked gamblers led by Demere (Sean Lynch), a disgruntled former knight.

Miguel owes Demere a lot of money, and ends up being blackmailed into a dastardly plot to steal the crown jewels.  As luck would have it, he's on duty guarding the jewels the next day: Sir Geoffrey shows him what he's guarding, while Richard makes him feel awful by telling him how much confidence he has in him.

When the appointed hour arrives , Miguel lets the thieves into the castle and even helps them knock out the proto-Beefeater guards. The villains make off with the jewels, and it's fair to say that Richard's not too happy the next morning, determining to turn the country upside down to find the jewels: though he absolves Miguel of all blame.

Geoffrey volunteers to go undercover in the less salubrious parts of London to find out information about the jewels' whereabouts from the city's lowlifes, but Richard insists he's too well known in London (in certain parts I'm sure he is), and gives Miguel the task.  Incidentally, Sir Geoffrey now seems to have got very friendly with a certain Sir Frederick.  Have he and Sir Gilbert had a row?

Miguel warns his dodgy chums that retribution from the king isn't far off, and they hatch a plan to escape to the continent, with Miguel giving false information that they're heading up north.  It's only his love for Martha that makes him acquiesce, but once he's gone she seems to be absolutely delighted at the notion that the gang won't need him much longer.

Lisa Daniely's Martha seems to be the real power behind the gang of thieves, and in truth seems to having nothing but contempt for Miguel, though the episode's brief running time means her character doesn't develop as much more than a vague impression.  The best moment of the episode comes when Miguel, as the thieves head out of the country, tells them he intends to take the jewels back to the king, by force if necessary: a big close-up of Martha, softly commanding "Kill him".

Things look bleak for Miguel as Demere's men advance: cue Richard and his knights, swooping in and dispatching the baddies (the king seems to take especial delight in offing Demere).

It turns out one of Demere's men was a spy for Richard, who kept him abreast of everything that was going on.  Far more incredible than this plot twist is that said spy is played by Oliver MacGreevy, an actor well known for parts as silent bald heavies - here, he's hairy, verbose, and very camp (note strangely longing glance in Demere's direction here).

Despite his part in stealing the jewels, Miguel gets away with just being sent back to France for a couple of years.  Although he doesn't quite fit the part as written, Maurice Kaufman's a charismatic actor, and he helps to make The Crown Jewels an especially rollicking episode.

Next tonight, another voyage to the heart of matrimony.

The slight boredom that's set in with recent episodes of Marriage Lines is alleviated this week as the show expands the characters of Kate and George Starling's neighbours. Peter and Norah.  Married for three years, they position themselves as mentors to the newlywed Kate and George, though - this being a sitcom - they're obviously both just as clueless when it comes to the rules for  keeping their relationship together.  Ronald Hines and Christine Finn make at least as good a comedy couple as Richard Briers and Prunella Scales.

Peter and Norah have had a huge row, and Peter asks George to accompany him to an antique shop to find something decent to apologise to his wife with. His sage advice to his less experienced friend: "Don't forget, when you're out of favour, browse through the seven and sixpenny tray.  It's better than flowers, it's a permanent reminder of your fine and generous nature."

Norah, meanwhile, has also decided to make amends: her way of doing so is to bake a soufflé (she is a housewife from 1963, after all).  After she and Kate have congratulated themselves on the fantastic choice of husband they each made, Kate decides George deserves to be treated to a soufflé too: she might even get a bottle of wine (to modern sensibilities it's unfathomable that a bottle of wine should have been the extravagance it was in the 60s: Norah has to dig into her summer hat fund to be able to get one).  George and Peter, meanwhile, have decided to go for a quick one before heading back to whatever rubbish their wives decide to set before them (fish fingers, most likely).  I should point out here that for me the most remarkable thing about this episode is the sausages on sticks available on the bar at the pub Peter and George frequent.  If I found a pub that provided those you'd never get me out of it.

Peter gives George a talk on appreciating his missus: "She's still the same princess you married, even if she does put curlers in her hair when she takes her crown off."  He stresses the importance of consideration for one's other half, and George insists they head back to the jeweller's, where he spends the vast sum of £9 on a gift for his wife.

George failing to have arrived home, Kate has a go at serving up some soufflé for herself. It's not been a resounding success.

Although they each put a brave face on it at first, Kate and Norah eventually admit that neither of their husbands have returned, and that both of their soufflés failed.  "I had to throw mine away," Kate sighs.  "Oh, I kept mine," scowls Norah, "I want him to see it. I want him to see what he did to it."

Fickle sitcom wives that they are, the pair now both decide they can't stand men. Norah lets Kate in to a little theory she has: "My dear, the greatest love affair of all is two men on their way to a football match.  Their minds are in tune, their hearts are as one, and when somebody scores a goal they turn round and hug each other."

Both men return home drunk,and both head back to the pub with their tail between their legs shortly after.  Peter decides it might be worth trying a spot of infidelity and earmarks a beautiful blonde (Jacqueline Jones), but before he gets far Norah turns up to drag him home.  The young lady's attempt to move on to George ends with him being summoned home by phone but her getting to keep the gift for Kate he inadvertently left behind.

Four Part Harmony's an improvement on recent episodes, though the women are still frustratingly pathetic (yes, I know my constant gripes about how badly women are represented on TV in 1963 are singularly pointless), and Peter and Norah are increasingly looking like a far more interesting couple than the one the show's focused on.

Friday 30 August 1963

This week we see once again how fraught with danger the life of a 12th century monarch was as, on his way to a jousting tournament, Richard is forced to give up his trusty steed to a knife wielding peasant (Derrick Sherwin, whose later career behind the camera would include a stint producing Doctor Who) who threatens the life of the king's companion Blondel de Nesle (of the instant coffee making family).  The crown of England happens to be in the saddlebag too, but the ever informal Richard's more worried about his horse.

The tournament's hosted by Baron Fitzgeorge, whose son Sir Thomas fought alongside Richard in the Crusades.  He was an exceptional fighter, but Richard never saw his face beneath his visor.  Blondel did, and is shocked to realise it was that of the peasant who attacked them.  When they run into the captain of the Baron's guard, he's strangely evasive about whether or not Sir Thomas is at home.

When Richard and Blondel reach the Baron's castle (correct me if I'm wrong, but I think the exterior's a shot of Bodiam Castle, near Rye - which dates from the 14th century), the Baron (The Navy Lark's Richard Caldicot) and his wife Lady Melinda (Ellen Pollock) seem equally shifty.  They claim it's not possible for the king to see his former comrade as Sir Thomas has a terrible infectious disease.  Incidentally, we learn at this point that Queen Berengaria is busily preparing for her husband's second coronation, feeling the first one lacked "a woman's touch".

Baron Fitzgeorge explains that he has a high rate of absconding serfs due to a family tradition that if they manage to escape and avoid the Baron's men for a year and a day they're granted their freedom.  The sour-faced Lady Melinda, no respecter of tradition, wants her husband to put a stop to this foolishness and harshly punish anyone who tries to escape: "In my father's house we knew the value of thrashing!" she happily recalls.  Her keen insistence that the serf who stole Richard's horse be executed just adds to the mystery.

Light begins to be shed when Richard and Blondel happen upon servant girl Rose (Eira Heath, who was here a few weeks back doing her music hall turn in Sergeant Cork).  She's the fiancée of Alan, the absconded serf (he's the second character called Alan in as many weeks - strange to think of it as a Medieval name), and once Blondel's done with attempting to romance her, explains that, threatened with death, Alan was forced to go crusading in the real Sir Thomas's place.

Said real Sir Thomas is hiding out in an outhouse to avoid Richard.  He's not ill, it was sheer cowardice that prevented him going to war.  His mother's conniving with him, but poor Baron Fitzgeorge is completely oblivious to what's happened.

Ian Bannen lookalike Michael O'Brien, who plays Sir Thomas, makes up a superbly villainous team alongside Ellen Pollock as his dastardly mother.  Pollock's forbidding countenance would later be put to superb use in Anthony Balch's magnificently odd Horror Hospital (1973).

Alan, who's been recaptured, is brought to Sir Thomas for some great villainous face-slapping.  Richard, in an attempt to get to the bottom of what's going on, accuses Baron Fitzgeorge of setting up the theft of the crown, and demands satisfaction from Sir Thomas.  In a duel, that is.  Poor Alan is once again forced to masquerade as the cowardly aristocrat.

The jousting duel goes ahead (Richard looking especially nice in his armour), with Sir Thomas' minions cutting the reins of the horse in order to make it look like Thomas has bested him.

The pair grapple for a bit off their horses (it looks very intimate), before Alan submits to the king.  Then they walk off together (which looks even more intimate - in fact it looks like a Monty Python sketch about gay knights).

Alan having come clean, Richard reveals the truth to the shocked Baron Fitzgeorge about his wife and son.  Blondel produces the real Sir Thomas, whom he's captured in a chest, and the disgraced nobleman is disinherited and exiled by his father.

The Baron's clearly eyeing up Alan as a replacement son, and considering the revelations he's just faced about his family, it's rather callous of Richard to announce he plans to whisk the young man off to be a champion of his court in London.  A Year and a Day's one of the best Richard the Lionhearts so far, with a genuinely intriguing mystery and a pair of especially hissable baddies. It's just a shame we never find out what Lady Melinda's eventual fate is.

Over on the other side, it's time to find out what comic misunderstandings the Starlings have managed to get themselves into this week.

Kate's shocked to learn that George has stacked up some suitcases in order to provide extra bedspace, her night movements meaning it's rather limited.

Kate, who unfortunately comes across as a bit shrill and unreasonable this week, isn't best pleased to be informed of her sleeping habits.  She takes George's desire for a larger bed as a sign that he doesn't want to be close to her (he reminds her that the reason they didn't get a bigger one was that she was worried what the salesman would think about them wanting a lot of space between them).

Browsing for a bigger bed, George feels deeply uncomfortable on hearing an obnoxious young engaged couple insisting on the most intimate bed possible.

As usual, both George and Kate are convinced there's something wrong with their relationship.  And this week both make a similarly unwise choice of confidant.  Kate goes to visit neighbour Norah, on the pretext of borrowing some soap powder, but really because she wants to sneak a look at Norha's book on Marital Psychology.  We're properly introduced to Christine Finn's Nora here (she was glimpsed briefly in the first episode of the series, in an intoxicated state).  She's wonderfully sardonic, with a Joan Greenwood-like feline quality.  Expounding on the consumer offers with which companies were trying to sell their products throughout the 60s: "I never feel like I'm paying for soap powder these days.  There's always threepence off or three plastic daffodils strapped to the packet."

Nora's been married long enough to have lost the illusions that Kate still clings to.  When Kate says she thinks she and George have had three quarrels a week Nora sighs: "Enjoy them while you can, dear.  They won't last."  Initially dismissive of Kate and George's problems, she changes her tune when Kate tells her that George has "gone off the bed", and starts to share Kate's fear that the relationship's doomed.

George, meanwhile, tells all to his rather too hearty father (Geoffrey Sumner) over lunch, and comes away convinced that Kate's broody: bad news as they'd agreed not to try for a baby for at least two years.

On returning home, George fears the worst on finding the Marital Psychology book and noticing there's a whole chapter on expectant fathers.

Kate enters, having bought a bizarre assortment of things in the hope of winning George's love back, including a jar of kangaroo tail soup.

And we end with the requisite scene of misunderstandings being cleared up and the pair reconciling ("I had a good look at all the babies I saw," George informs a baffled Kate, "And some of them seemed quite reasonable").  Marriage Lines is still very amiable, but three weeks in it's already starting to feel just the tiniest bit stale.

Friday 16 August 1963

By now the Danziger vision of the life of Richard I has departed so far from anything that might actually have happened that it wouldn't come as a surprise if the king were to encounter a genuine prehistoric man.  That's not quite what happens here: as in the previous episode the antagonist is an anti-social grump with an axe to grind against the nobility.  This one's a cave-dwelling hermit played by the enjoyably gruff Nigel Green.

Unlike the traditional hermit who has nothing to do with the world he's retreated from, this one keeps a whole village in his thrall thanks to the mysterious method he's found for controlling its water supply.  In return for water the villagers propitiate him like a god.  Or, more to the point, a fairytale ogre.  A fairytale is exactly what The Caveman is structured like: the ogre/hermit's demands become increasingly difficult to meet, climaxing with his insistence on having the local squire's beautiful daughter's hand in marriage after he discovers her poking about his cave.  True, he might not be the best possible catch for poor Diane (June Thorburn), but he's no worse than her drippy current fiancé Alan (Mark Burns).

Fortunately for Diane, her father is being paid a visit by wise King Richard (and Queen Berengaria, presumably second choice after his usual companion Sir Gilbert), who determines to work out the secret of the hermit's magic.  Diane's father Baron Brentlock, by the way, is played by our old friend Guy Deghy, who fans of useless information may like to note has now featured in more guest roles at TV Minus 50 than any other performer.

The hermit's not too pleased to be visited by Richard and Alan, and chucks them in a hole.  Richard manages to wriggle out through a crack, but rather meanly leaves Alan behind until he finds out how the hermit controls the water.

It's actually nothing more exciting than a makeshift sluice gate, which Richard and Alan demonstrate to a crowd of slack-jawed yokels.

The hermit's banished, and they all live happily ever after.  I'm intrigued to see how far into the realms of fantasy this show's going to venture in future.  Incidentally, Richard the Lionheart's resident man of many faces Trader Faulkner turns up this week as the hermit's emissary Elias, wearing the most bizarre false facial hair yet seen in the show.  And that really is saying something.

Later on in the evening, over on the other side, it's the start of a new sitcom from writer Richard Waring, charting the ups and downs of newlyweds Kate and George Starling.  The Marriage Lines kicks off with a montage of photos of its stars, Prunella Scales and Richard Briers, as they marry and are then unconvincingly superimposed over various images attempting to represent a Parisian honeymoon.

The episode proper starts with the knackered couple returning to their London home...

After some surprisingly risqué dialogue as the couple contemplate their first night together in the flat ("The honeymoon doesn't count," says George, "I mean, it was wonderful, the best time I've ever had, but it's not the same as being married."  "Well, it certainly wasn't much like being single," Kate wryly replies), they make the horrifying discovery that the key to the flat is missing.  Kate's got no hairpins to pick the lock with, and a plastic roller isn't likely to be much use.  Their attempt to get in's discovered by a policeman, anyway - and as they've stowed their luggage in an understair cupboard it's now impossible to open he's not inclined to believe they're the flat's occupants.

In some ways, the then-contemporary setting of The Marriage Lines seems as strange 50 years later as the 12th century.  George and Kate's predicament is exacerbated by their having only a tiny amount of money on them (no cashpoints or even debit cards in existence yet), meaning they can't get a taxi to George's parents' house in Wimbledon, and with no mobile phones the only way they can ask their friend Miles to put them up is by using the only penny they have with them in a phone box.

This penny's swiftly wasted when George accidentally dials an old flame of his instead.  An attempt at reassuring Kate about this slip is interrupted by the return of the distressingly omnipresent constable.

For anyone interested in such things, here's a good look at the ads for the Post Office on the wall of the phone box.

A series of misadventures follow for George and Kate: an attempt at getting a room in a hotel (and paying the following day) is scuppered by the ancient night porter (Maitland Moss - fantastic name!), no less suspicious of them than the policeman.

Seeking sustenance, they head to an all-night coffee stall (instant, of course, and I doubt the cheese rolls that comprise the entire food menu are even made with artisan bread), where they encounter a grim premonition of their future in the form of bitterly rowing Derek Benfield and Sheila Raynor.  "You wouldn't have six pennies, would you?" George asks the discontented husband.  "Are you kidding?" he responds, "I'm married!"

Kate's increasingly pissed off mood isn't helped by George's run-in with a lady of the night (Mary Jordan), who he asks for some change.  "Sorry dear, I don't take many pennies."

Eventually George and Kate head home, and disturb the wild party across the hall.  Their new neighbours, Peter and Norah (Ronald Hines and Christine Finn) are delighted to meet them: before they know what's happening George has a drink pressed on him and Kate's whisked off to dance.  The biggest audience laugh of the episode comes as the drunken Peter nearly kisses George in greeting.

Peter recalls a former tenant of the Starlings' flat getting in via a broken ventilator, and party guest Ronnie (Gordon Rollings) agrees to reproduce the stunt on the promise that there's more booze in there.  It turns out to be an empty promise, however, much to Ronnie's chagrin

The flat's littered with empty bottles, George having had no time to tidy up after his stag party.  Finding her new home a tip, along with the partygoers' determination to relocate there, proves too much for Kate.

The Threshold isn't side-splittingly funny, but it is a lot of fun.  Obviously The Marriage Lines' greatest asset is its leading players: we all know from their later, more familiar work that Scales and Briers are both fantastic comic talents, and while they're much younger in The Marriage Lines than we're accustomed to seeing them, their performances are as assured as those from later in their careers.  As a couple they're instantly endearing, their relationship totally believable as that of a pair of young people who love each other very deeply but are still only just learning to share their life with someone else.

The heart and soul of The Threshold is in its last five minutes: finally alone in their home after the disasters of the night, Kate and George have their first ever row, Kate tearing a strip off George for losing the key and spending the evening being impotently apologetic.  Richard Briers' facial expression as Prunella Scales lets rip is such a familiar one from so many other shows that it's a joy to behold here.

Banished from the marital bed, George sets to work tidying the flat as Kate makes a deeply embarrassing discovery in her coat pocket.  Appropriately it's the key moment of the episode, telling us this isn't going to be the usual sitcom story of idiot husband and long-suffering wife, but of two flawed people who can do equally stupid things - in other words the story of every real relationship there's ever been.

There's a literally cheesy ending as George encounters a huge lump of cheddar that's gone mouldy in his absence, but the lingering image is that of his and Kate's tentative embrace, of each other as well as the trials their marriage is certain to bring.