Saturday 24 August 1963

One of Sergeant Cork creator Ted Willis's early successes was the screenplay for Ealing Studios' hugely popular The Blue Lamp (1950).  In it, the whole of London seems to unite in the search for the murderer of Jack Warner's PC George Dixon (later, of course, to be resurrected as a TV mainstay).  Well, almost the whole of London: therere's a memorable scene in which a conspicuously posh woman flouts the traffic laws, scolding the policemen who caution her: they should be dealing with more important things, like the killing of their colleague.

Willis's values are those of old Labour (he was a tireless activist for the party and became a Labour peer later in 1963), and the idea of a callous privileged class who consider themselves above the laws that keep the rabble in check is clearly one that Willis continued to be angry about, and he passionately expands on it in his script for The Case of the Sleeping Coachman.  It's a brilliant piece of TV drama, probably the best episode of Sergeant Cork yet - but it confirms once and for all that the main function of the show is to deal with social issues of the early 60s, dressed up in Victorian drag.

The episode starts with a neat bit of misdirection as the camera focuses on what seems like a corpse, until it grunts and stirs.  This is the sleeping coachman of the title, Jim Whittaker (Barry Linehan). He manages to rise from the place in the stable where he's been huddled, only to stumble across a real corpse.

That's not a dead body

That's a dead body

Sergeant Cork and his trusty sidekick Bob Marriott are called in to investigate.  As they prepare to leave for Sir Henry Melrose's estate in Wiltshire, where the body (belonging to servant girl Nellie Bishop) was found, we once again meet Carmen Silvera as Cork's jolly housekeeper Mrs Fielding.  She's hilariously blasé about the gruesome cases her employer investigates.  "Oh, that'll be nice for you," she enthuses when Bob tells her they're off to solve a murder, "Make a nice change for you to do your investigating in the countryside."

At the Melrose home we're introduced to the stock whodunnit characters: dogged but dim local police inspector (John Harvey), apopleptic squire (Mark Dignam), his sheltered, almost childlike wife (Beatrice Kane), and their indolent son (Philip Bond).  Not pictured is independent-minded daughter of the house Rosalie Crutchley - we'll get to her later.

But there's more of a political edge than usual to how these characters are presented.  Sir Henry is an autocratic monster unable to conceive of his will not being done.  He knows that his own status as a Great British Amateur makes him much more qualified to find the murderer than a plodder like Inspector Armstrong, who has to make a living as a policeman.  For his own part, the inspector's a spineless cretin: he bows to Sir Henry's lack of cooperation in his investigation, but slags the lord of the manor off to Cork the first opportunity he gets.

Straight away we know that the eventual confrontation between Cork and Sir Henry is going to be amazing, and Willis brilliantly ramps up our expectations.  "I see I'll have to cut this Sergeant Cork down to size!" Sir Henry splutters, on learning the CID man has decided, of all things, to use the front door rather than the tradesman's entrance ("The man's entitled to a little courtesy, surely - even if he is only a policeman" his wife ventures uncertainly).  When Cork arrives, he doesn't disappoint.  His reaction to Sir Henry is one of polite amusement: "I didn't wish to put you in an awkward situation, Sir" he says of his entrance through the front, "Only last month I had the privilege of entering Windsor Castle through the main gates".

The dialogue in this scene's priceless: "Let us hope the murderer knows his position sufficiently not to use the front door," Cork says on learning it's the only exit without a police guard.  In reaction to Sir Henry's blustering about how inconvenient the affair is: "I apologise Sir.  I'm sure that if Nellie Bishop were alive  she'd apologise too for causing you so much trouble."  John Barrie is simply amazing here, subtly indicating the contempt bubbling just under Cork's twinkly exterior (Barrie's relative obscurity is as baffling as that of Sergeant Cork). Eventually he proves unable to conceal his revulsion as the family continue to be uncooperative in his investigations:  "You show no more concern than if one of your dogs had died.  My God, what sort of people are you?"

Cork's confrontation with Sir Henry's mirrored by a similar meeting between Bob and young George Melrose in the kitchen, where the young detective's getting stuck into one of his favourite pastimes: romancing the most comely female servant (here played by Patricia Clapton, seen just last night as a barmaid in The Marriage Lines).  Encountering Bob being plied with food and drink, George takes him to be a travelling wastrel, and is outraged by what's round his neck: "What the devil are you doing wearing that tie? That's a Winchester tie, isn't it?"  Bob is,of course, as much a master of the devastating comeback as his boss: "That's right.  It's rather dull, don't you think?  Like the school.  I don't usually wear it, but I came away in rather a hurry."

Willis's message is clear: Bob may be from a privileged background, but he's worth far more than George and his father because he's devoting his life to the service of the public.  He's not able to handle the strong country cider though, the big posh pansy.

There's a truly heart-rending moment in Cork and Marriott's visit to Nellie's parents.  Her stern shepherd father (Stuart Saunders) is bitterly resigned to the idea that if a member of the Melrose family killed his daughter they'll get off scot-free, the laws that punish the poor not applying to the rich.  After the police leave, Nellie's mother (the wonderful Patsy Smart), tenderly removes a corn dolly from where it hangs above the fireplace, clutches it to her chest, then chucks it on the flames.  It's devastating.

The most intriguing member of the Melrose family is Rosalie Crutchley's Victoria.  When we first see her she's reading John Stuart Mill's On the Subjection of Women and expounding her socialist views to her clearly baffled mother.  She seems every inch the New Woman of the late Victorian era.  But rhat's not quite the whole story.  Victoria's primarily animated by a deep, savagely possessive love for her brother. The incestuous undertones are, well, barely undertones at all.  The key scene between the pair features Victoria massaging George with barely concealed lust.

"I've been spoilt," Victoria tells George, "When I think of other men compared to you..."  She freely admits to her brother that her involvement in feminism is partly down to her hatred of other men for not matching up to him in her eyes.  It's troubling stuff: Willis clearly means to paint a picture of the upper classes as shallow poseurs, but it's hugely frustrating that a potentially admirable female character turns out to be morally bankrupt.

The extent of Victoria's possessiveness becomes clear when Cork, having learned that Nellie was pregnant with George's child, accuses him of the murder.  It's a trap to make the real murderer, Victoria, reveal herself - and she obligingly does.  Her condemnation of the woman she killed as a slut reveals the true depth of her commitment to the sisterhood.

The Case of the Sleeping Coachman is compelling stuff with a political conviction almost unthinkable in a mainstream drama of this kind today. And it's especially fascinating in the light of the scandal that had recently obsessed the country at the time of its broadcast, where the iniquities of the ruling class had been laid bare but the media focus was on a sexually transgressive working class woman.  But sadly the episode's another reminder of how generally shitty things were for women on telly in 1963.

Things weren't much better for women in the male-dominated hit parade either: the Crystals, at 8, are the only female vocalists in the top 10.  This week Billy J Kramer and the Dakotas have made it to number 1.  At 3, here's Freddie and the Dreamers.

Friday 23 August 1963

It's a week since Kate and George Starling returned from their honeymoon and George is back at work, though still at the stage where he wants to call Kate in the middle of the day just to see how she is.  We learn that George works in an office (of course: it's inconceivable he could work anywhere else), but nothing about what he actually does there. Not that it matters, of course, as the reason we're shown George's worklife is just to get him out of the house and to contrast his homely newlywed lifestyle with that of his lothario workmate Miles (Edward De Souza).  Miles is aghast at George's lack of interest in going out and having fun since getting married: "it's turned you into a sort of Prince of Darkness" is his curious assessment.

"I thought so.  I can hear your chains rattling"

Miles's constant needling (especially when George turns down a pub crawl in the East End to go to the pictures with Kate instead) makes George start to wonder if he really is under the thumb after all.  Meanwhile, Kate's burning his dinner in classic sitcom wife style.

The crust of Kate's steak and kidney pie is now inedible ("It isn't a pie if it hasn't got a top on it," George grumbles, "It's a stew").  It signals the start of a fraught evening between the pair, with George beginning to wonder if, between Kate and Miles, he has any say in his life at all.

George isn't happy

George's creeping discontentment infuriates Kate, and the pair have a row which ends with Kate storming off to the cinema on her own (it could be argued that  Prunella Scales overdoes the storming a tad) and George failing to do any better with the pie.

Kate isn't happy George isn't happy

Eventually George catches up with Miles in the pub, only to learn the pub crawl's been cancelled and Miles has got a hot date (or so he claims).  George resorts to boasting about how wonderful his home life is, an endless round of delicious home cooked meals and sophisticated dinner parties (where people consume such glamorous fare as Bloody Marys and chicken in aspic).  The cheese sandwich Miles has managed to get from behind the bar seems even more unappetising in comparison.

In retaliation Miles talks of the benefits of being single and having an endless stream of available women on tap (though George points out that the pub's not exactly full of lookers).

Miles shares some of his tips for picking up women: coffee bars a good bet. The girls in them may be scruffy beatniks but at least they won't stay in to wash their hair.  Alarm bells ring for George when Miles boasts of his prowess in getting off with women in the cinema - especially wives in the midst of a row with their husbands.  Quick as a flash George is out scouring the local fleapits to make sure Kate isn't being pawed by a sweaty backseat Casanova (films playing include The Great Escape, The Lawless Breed and The Wild and the Willing).  George is unable to locate his wife, but he learns two things: firstly that Miles was right about cinemas being full of women who are gagging for it...

...and secondly that Miles himself may have been exaggerating about his success with them.

You never hear the phrase "drink on a stick" these days,do you?

George returns home to Kate, who left the film half an hour in to go back to him (after being groped by a creepy little man - this episode makes cinemagoing in the 60s seem incredibly hazardous: it's a wonder anyone ever actually saw any films).  George, of course, lies about his brilliant evening out with the boys - though Kate already knows it was cancelled.  All is sweetness and light again.  Until next time.

Thursday 22 August 1963

Space Patrol's current run comes to an end with a characteristically eccentric tale of what Star Trek writers would call "first contact".  Galasphere 347's in the vicinity of Saturn, which no outsider has ever set foot on: they've never even met the planet's mysterious inhabitants.  It's the Saturnians' rings, you see, they're impossible to penetrate.  Husky's peculiar judgement on the planet: "It looks good enough to eat!"

Wait, what's this, emerging from the planet's rings? Could it be a Saturnian spaceship?

Captain Dart's incredibly excited by this sighting (we have to take this on trust, what with him being a blank-faced puppet), and tries to contact the ship.  As nobody's ever heard a Saturnian speak before their language isn't in the electric translator, so it all comes out as a load of gibberish.  Undeterred, Dart decides to pop over to the Saturnian vessel using his ion gun (the thing that makes it look like he's got a sparkler sticking out his arse).  The aliens turn out to be a friendly bunch, and agree to take Dart down for a look at Saturn.  Husky and Slim are stuck on the Galasphere while Dart has fun with his new friends, and we stay with their perspective through the Captain's adventures - meaning we're left hanging in suspense about what the Saturnians look like.

Next thing we know we're back on Earth.  Colonel Raeburn's brimming with plans for getting the Saturnians to join the United Galactic Organisation, but these are dampened when they send him an angry message saying they'll never let anyone visit Saturn again.  The reason for their ire? It seems Captain Dart took some leaves from a holy tree.  Dart begs for a chance to return the leaves to the planet and apologise.  "You're on a suicide job!" the Colonel tells him, a ray of sunshine as ever.

He might not be wrong, though: Dart intends to drive the Galasphere through the impenetrable rings of Saturn and land on the planet.  It turns out that the first ring is a magnetic field, which the ship gets through without too much trouble.  The second we're not told about, but the third is made up of ultraviolet rays.  The crew have to don goggles to keep from going blind.  And truly amazing they look too.

The fourth ring is infrared, and the unbearable heat from it nearly finishes the crew off.  They have to go and sit in the freezer, and even there it's sweltering.  On finally reaching the planet's surface, Dart contacts the Saturnians (obviously he has to switch the updated Electrans to "S" first).

But the Saturnians have their own plans, and use their strange magnetic powers to remove Dart and his men from the ship...

Meanwhile, back on Earth, Raeburn's getting an ear-bashing from his bizarre-looking boss the General for letting the Galasphere crew go back to Saturn: "These creatures are angry because he took their leaves!" he succinctly reminds us.

Raeburn reveals his deeply worrying lack of any kind of health and safety policy: "Safety has never been an important world in Space Patrol: my men live with danger."  I've said it before and I'll no doubt say it again - the man's a dangerous lunatic.

Anyway, here comes our first look at the Saturnians - and my goodness, it was worth the wait.  Just look at this!

Yes, incredible.  And adorable.  Well, maybe not to everyone.  The crew's first meeting with one of these creatures leads to some priceless dialogue:

Husky: He's got a face that would frighten a vampire!
Dart: Sh! We're in enough trouble without hurting his feelings any more.

And they're actually a very jolly bunch - the whole business about the leaves was just their idea of a joke to put the wind up nosey outsiders.  They're more than happy to join the United Galactic Organisation.  Their leader's especially great, hopping in and out of his bath as he chats with Dart, and explaining how having a big thick tail to sit down on's a great benefit on a world with high gravity.

And as the spacemen depart, the episode ends with him merrily splashing in his bath.  It's perhaps not quite as nuanced a story of initial contact with an alien species as Star Trek would give us, but did Star Trek ever give us anything as amazing as four-armed talking dinosaurs? I think not.

You can watch The Rings of Saturn here.  There'll be more inspired lunacy from Space Patrol in the Autumn.

Tuesday 20 August 1963

This episode of the long-running police show's missing its first 10 minutes or so (or at least it is in the version I saw), which makes it all very disorienting to begin with.  The loss of the introductory scenes means the episode's curious title, Expert with Salt, only gradually starts to make sense.  The expert in question is Roley Sadler (Alan White), a crooked Australian businessman who's made a fortune from salting mines.  For the benefit of those (like me, before I saw this) who have no idea what this means, it entails planting samples of precious metals in order to trick those with more money than sense into investing in a worthless mine.

Much of the episode's taken up with scenes of the not conspicuously attractive Sadler romancing a pair of glamorous women.  The first of these is Nesta Somers (Judith South), secretary to rich widow Justine Power (Naomi Chance), who has herself recently come to London from Australia.  Roley and Nesta are plotting to blackmail Justine, whose husband (unbeknownst to her) became a millionaire off the back of salting.

Sadler's other paramour (of whom Nesta is viciously jealous) is Gloria Connell (Katharine Schofield, clearly not cast for her dramatic talent).

Gloria's an associate of high-flying stockbrokers Derek Breen and Arnold Gracie (Ronald Allen and Ronald Leigh-Hunt - you may not be interested to learn that Leigh-Hunt now ties with Guy Deghy as TV Minus 50's most prolific guest actor).  The pair's public image paints them as the golden boys of the City but in fact they're just a pair of crooks, who are starting out on the salting game themselves.  Sadler finds out about their plan to dupe rich but gullible Aussie farmer Charles Milner (Jerold Wells, whose remarkable face looks like it was hewn out of a cliff) into investing in a dud gold mine, and muscles in on it, demanding a third of the proceeds.

These alternative Two Ronnies are a menacing pair, however (though Leigh-Hunt's character being referred to throughout as "Gracie" makes them a bit less so), treating poor Gloria with wince-inducing cruelty on learning she's been giving information about them to Sadler.  And soon enough, it turns out he's bitten off more than he can chew when he's found dead.

It's difficult to know what to make of Expert with Salt.  Anthony Scott Veitch's script is confusing, its characters and their motivations frustratingly unclear- and I'd guess it would still be like that even with the first 10 minutes extant.  It follows the same format as the last episode of No Hiding Place featured here (months ago), with the original object of the police investigation offed at the end of the second act, meaning the investigation into his death and the eventual reveal of the killer are entirely perfunctory.

The police themselves are barely in this episode, though in his limited screentime Raymond Francis's Superintendent Lockhart gets some decent moments, disapprovingly reading aloud from the society column: "Gaiety in Wimbledon: Mrs Justine Power lets frivolity go to her head in a crisp lemon sailor hat," and tussling with Sadler's entertainingly dreadful landlady (Elizabeth Benson).

But eventually it's left up to Justine's bizarre, seemingly omniscient Chinese chauffeur Lee Tok (Anthony Chinn) to wrap things up by fingering Ronald Allen.  As the murderer.