Listen With TV 'Girl' (Test Card)

Bang On A Drum - Songs From Play School And Play Away

Between 1969 and 1973, BBC Records And Tapes released a couple of dozen LPs on their short-lived 'Roundabout' imprint. Specifically aimed towards younger listeners, and presumably named in honour of a certain animated show that would have been very much on their radar at the time, the Roundabout series of albums started out strange and got even stranger, with a short and unwarranted outburst of sensibility in the middle. Here, then, is a guide to what you might expect to find if you chance upon one of these decidedly odd records lurking at the back of the 'Soundtracks' section in one of the larger charity shops...


RBT1 Fun At The Zoo

BBC Records And Tapes - Fun At The Zoo

Leading naturalist Eric Simms invites us along on an All Back To Mine-style rifle through his personal collection of sound captures from zoos in That London. All immaculately recorded and sounding nice and nice and punchy in that mono field recording kind of a way, but it's debatable how much 'fun' this actually is for the young listeners, let alone the poor old elephants and tigers. You had to be there, I guess. Paul Simon's views on the album are not on record.


RBT2 Come To A Party


Perhaps indicating that they weren't quite ready to fork out for any actual actors or presenters to do the roundabouting duties just yet, BBC Radio producer Gordon Snell takes the frightfully well-spoken lead for a series of party games and songs, including quick Radiophonic Workshop-assisted rounds of Musical Bumps, Guess The Noise, O'Grady Says..., Polly Put The Kettle On, Oranges and Lemons, and, erm, 'Islands, Balloon and Parcel'. No, us neither. He also gets to read out one of his self-penned nonsense stories, 'How The Plonks Got Their Hair'. It's even weirder than you're thinking.


RBT3 Listen With Mother


Only three whole releases in, they've finally opted to put one out based on an actual recognisable children's programme, with the cast of long-running stories, songs and percussion radio hoedown Listen With Mother ushered into a recording booth to re-interpret some of their greatest hits for the listening masses. So basically the tambourine-thumped expected likes of Ring A Ring O' Roses, Little Bo Peep, This Is The Way The Ladies Ride and The Grand Old Duke Of York, alongside such slightly more esoteric fare as A Fishing Rod For Carlos, A Pig With A Wig, From The Cabbage Patch To Australia and, erm, Gay Go Up And Gay Go Down. Moving hastily on...


RBT4 Animal Magic


Still persisting with that off-putting generic front cover branding, but at least they've wheeled out a potentially interest-attracting big name this time around, in the form of veteran anthropomorphist and Public Enemy Number Fifty Three Million Johnny Morris, indulging in much the same sort of skidding-penguin-saying-"look-out-below-fellars!" antics as on the televisual version of Animal Magic, only this time without the televisuals. And what do you know, it works pretty much just as well. Plus, thankfully, he doesn't start warbling on about Gemini The Sealion here either.


RBT5 Jackanory


The BBC's kaleidoscope-fronted storytelling slot makes a hazardous book-TV-vinyl triple-jump with a quartet of readings of traditional folk tales - one each from England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales - culled from the show itself, complete with that never-explained 'hallucinogenic tree' iconography on the back cover. One-woman vaudeville act and pre-war TV mainstay Maureen Potter, Dempsey And Makepeace-botherer Ray Smith, Jackanory Week One helmsman Lee Montague, and Magnus Magnusson - with nary a 'started so I'll finish' gag in sight - do the royalty-free reading out honours. Distinctly short on grooves.


RBT6 Party Time


Gordon Snell's back, and this time he's armed with tongue-twisters, games of I-Spy and, well, more or less exactly the same as before, basically. The only real difference being that the generic cover art has undergone a less-than-subtle overhaul that might lead more suspicious minds to question exactly what refreshments were on offer at said party. Tizer, Caramac and blackcurrant jelly, obviously.


RBT7 The Wizard Of Oz


The optical cause for concern may well continue, but here for the first time ever the cover-mounted roundabout gets ditched in favour of some of the Hilary-Hayton-meets-Jelly-Tots interpretations of the lead characters from Jackanory's celebrated 1970 reading of Frank L. Baum's film-inspiring fantasy novel, as narrated (and indeed re-narrated for this release) by Bernard Cribbins with bits and pieces of hamfisted sound effects and loungey keyboard music. Nobody has tried syncing this up with The Dark Side Of The Moon as far as anyone knows.


RBT8 Magic Roundabout


Eric Thompson, the theme music, and straight-ahead no-nonsense re-recordings of ten original nonsense-crammed stories complete with obscure characters, incessantly-volumed boings, and Dylan and Brian apparently trying to play Rainy Day Women #12 And 35. Do you need any more qualification? Oh you do? Right, well, maybe somebody's been going on about The Magic Roundabout quite a bit recently...


RBT9 Listen With Mother No.2


The cover art experiments continue and everything's gone a bit E Arth Welcome, suggesting that we're about to be treated to a downbeat spoken word version of There's A Hole In My Bucket over a looped bit of Etienne de Crecy. Sadly, though, it's just a bunch of typical Listen With Mother stories with names like Mrs. Moppingdust And The Lettuce Thief and The Six Thin Brothers, though you do have to wonder if Thom Yorke was listening in for The Unhappy Computer.


RBT10 Play School


As the back cover photos which make the presenters look like they've just spilled out of a 'psychedelic' nightclub in a late sixties British spy thriller suggest, you'll find a far more far-out calibre of stories on here, including bleepy retro sci-fi tone poem The Moon Rocket, freestyle-inviting break-heavy animals-go-prog jolliness Fearless Fred's Amazing Animal Band, and the Radiophonic Workshop-assisted tale of everyday existentialism amongst the Splodges. Sampled by more than one dance artist, despite being a spoken word record. Stitch that, Gordon Snell!

It seems that there never was an RBT11, so instead it's straight on to... 


RBT12 The Adventures Of Sir Prancelot 


John Ryan's oft-forgotten post-Mary, Mungo And Midge middle ages tomfoolery steps into stereo for this epic-length crusade to the Holy Land, which would make this one of the highlights of the catalogue if it wasn't for one major drawback - while the sleeve makes a big deal of the inclusion of the bonkers electric sitar-led Jester-mimed what's-that-got-to-do-with-medieval theme music, it's actually only in heavily edited form and in one speaker. Tell those moogs funks breaks merchants on eBay where they can moog funk break it.


RBT13 Camberwick Green


A straight reissue of 1966's Welcome To Camberwick Green, giving listeners another chance to enjoy Peter Hazel and Windy Miller wandering aimlessly about in a flimsy pretext to cram in crisp clean mono versions of pretty much all of the songs from the show, some of them in vocal AND instrumental versions to boot. It's OK, you can come back now. 'The Clown' isn't on the cover.


RBT14 Music Time


In its original black and white 'Pie Chart'-heralded incarnation, Music Time was a very different show, and leaned very much towards the the Corn Riggs Are Bonnie end of the musical scale. Here letter-e-deficient duo Mari Griffith and Ian Humpris take us through some stark acoustic renditions of folk songs from around the world, including Deaf Woman's Courtship, Goodbye Old Paint, O Waly Waly and the ever so slightly dubious Man In The Wood. Cadet Rousselle was not available for comment. Other than to confirm that he has houses three.


RBT15 Bedtime Stories


Johnny Morris rattles through a selection of self-penned yawn-friendly yarns, apparently derived from 'The Post Office Dial-A-Bedtime-Story Service', and introducting us to the likes of Snapper The Crocodile, Snowdrop The Polar Bear, Tubthump The Gorilla (who presumably gets knocked down, but he gets up again), and... well, you get the picture. He doesn't tell one about that lamp, though.


RBT16 Mary, Mungo And Midge


TV's premier Girl/Dog/Mouse ensemble make it to vinyl with a handful of 'your favourite stories from BBCTV' (which doesn't include the one about the clock so that's false advertising for starters), which might lose something with the absence of the minimalist cardboard cutout animation but at least you get lovely medium-fi versions of the opening narration and closing music. There's also reputedly a 'break' hidden away on there somewhere, but even Spindarella hasn't been able to locate it.


RBT17 Bang On A Drum - Songs From Play School And Play Away


Oh yes, this is everything that cover promises. And so much more. Ridiculous Pickettywitch-meets-Mike-Westbrook Pop/Acid Folk/Brit-Jazz hybrid musical mismatch very much to the fore as various frustrated singer-songwriters who'd been reduced to presenting Play School to make ends meet get the opportunity to rework some of their back catalogue flops for younger listeners, going absolutely musically overboard on the way. Rammed from start to finish with hidden delights like Early In The Morning, Sunbeams Play, The Israeli Boat Song, I Like Peace I Like Quiet, and of course the much-sampled Bang On A Drum itself. Notice also how Hamble appears to just be attacking the air with her fists. Just adds to the mounting evidence, frankly.


RBT18 Adventures Of Parsley


Ten retold tales from the post-The Herbs excursion into free-form scattershot five-minute surrealism, with Parsley and Dill (who - controversially - 'narrates' a handful of them) joined by a procession of Guest Herbs and that Farfisa-blinking-in-and-out-of-dimensional-plane theme music in all of its bass speaker-blowing glory. Wonder if that geezer who was always looking for 'THE HERBS LP' in the Record Collector 'Wanted' listings ever found a copy?


RBT19 Play Away


A pretty good attempt at doing a full edition of Play Away in sound only, meaning that there's sketches, gags, poems and free-form parlour games in between all of the music. Famed combination of Blaxploitation funk and Dawkins-esque rationalism Superstition is the obvious standout, though the likes of The Party Is About To Begin, Words Words Words, Umbababarumba and an energetic rattle through If I Had A Hammer are also ever so slightly good, and then on the non-musical side there's the word-walloping playlet Captain Kipper's Clipper. Note also the use of Toni Arthur's arse as a selling point.

As there was no RBT20, let's give thanks to The Lord for...


RBT21 Songs Of Praise For Young Folk


They're all we need to lift our lift our lift our lift our hearts. BBC Records And Tapes' early output was full of these Pete Seeger-inspired 'making worship fun' efforts performed in cahoots with then-struggling now-collectable Acid Folkies - previous offerings had involved the likes of Heather Jones, Dana Stirk and The Crown Folk - and this collaboration between a load of caterwauling kids and the label's in-house psych-heads Trane was no exception, treating listeners to renditions of such oddly-titled God-botherings as There Is A God, O Ru-Ru-Ru, Fisherman Peter and, erm, Love Came A-Tricklin' Down. But while it may be talked about in hushed tones by pillocks with wonky hats nowadays, was it a turntable favourite with youngsters back then? More than likely not.


RBT101 Bobby Lamb And The Keymen


What happened to RBT's 22 to 100 is something we may never know, and sadly listeners would be denied the chance to hear albums based on On The Farm and Mandog, as we leap straight on to... um... Radio 2 favourites Bobby Lamb and his Hammond-hammering wah wah-peddling backing ensemble taking a psych-lounge stroll through a handful of recent top pop disc hits. From a modern day Exotica fan's point of view there's no arguing with the escalating mayhem of their take on The Fool On The Hill, or the slow-burning funk of Harlem Nocturne and Cinnamon And Cloves, and it's rounds of applause all round when Paddy Kingsland of the BBC Radiophonic Workshop shows up to splatter some elastic Moog all over Aquarius, but you really do have to feel for any child who might have been inadvertently bought this when they were hoping for a selection of songs from Hope And Keen's Crazy Bus or something.


RBT102 The Many Voices Of Peter Ustinov


Explorer! Fitness Instructor! Croupier! Lord Mayor's Croupier! It seems we're straying a bit from the original Roundabout brief here, as rather than showing off his best Frank Spencer, TV's That Bloke Where You Were Never Quite Sure Exactly What He Did spends an entire two sides of vinyl deep in 'After Supper Conversation' with those teen sensations all the kids were going crazy for, Cliff Michelmore, Kenneth Allsop and Derek Hart. The latter clearly having left The Bishop Of Woolwich and a Nude Man at home on this occasion.


RBT103 Girl On the Test Card 


Pete Winslow and his not-particularly-onomatopaeic 'King Size Brass' tootle their way through a selection of commercially-available renditions of the non-commercially-available instrumentals regularly heard behind BBC Test Card F; the sleeve notes suggest that this was due to overwhelming viewer interest, though it's more than possible that TV's Scariest Bastards simply marched on BBC Records And Tapes and demanded the release themselves. To be honest, from Take Your Time to Menorcan Mardi Gras, it's all rather jolly, perky and ultimately 'beat'-free fare - even the misleadingly promisingly-titled Six Two Five 405 - but hidden away right at the end you'll find the nigh-on seven minute intergalactic groove of Space Chariots. How come it suddenly gets so interesting? You are not entitled to ask.


RBT104 S'Wonderful


You must remember that huge seventies craze for big band swing, when all the kids downed spacehoppers in favour of dusty old wax cylinders of The Edison Concert Band? No? Well it clearly happened, as here's BBC Records And Tapes' attempt to cash in on the phenomenon with a handful of lively toe-tappers cobbled together from other previous non-Roundabout releases and a distinctly un-childfriendly cover. Either that, or 'Girl' and 'Clown' really did manage to get their feet under the musical table - indeed, as if to underline this, there's a track from Girl On The Test Card included here - and this change of direction was taken merely in the desperate hope of keeping them happy. In which case we would like to categorically state that this is all jolly good, and well done everyone involved, and now please move on as there is nothing more to see here.


RBT106 Jumping To Fame - The Story Of Showjumping Today


At least some semblance of an acknowledgement of what young people like here - well, a certain percentage of them won't shut up about wanting to own a horse - with a cut-down version of a Radio 4 series featuring Jeanine McMullen chatting to equestrians great and small about their Square Oxer shenanigans. It also clearly jumped RBT105 too, as there's no record of that ever having been released.


RBT 107 With Brass And Strings 


Another collection of stuff culled from other extant Big Band-friendly releases, including renditions of the themes from those top children's favourites Softly Softly, Owen M.D., Van Der Valk and the Shipping Forecast (and another tip of the blue triangular hat to TV 'Clown' and 'Girl'). And with that, the Roundabout experiment was quietly retired. Or, if you will, stopped rotating. Sorry.



Top Of The Box, the story behind every single released by BBC Records And Tapes (including more from 'Girl' and 'Clown', but don't let that scare you away), is available here.

Top Of The Box

Top Of The Box by Tim Worthington - excellent cover art by Graham Kibble-White

Top Of The Box is the story behind every single released by BBC Records And Tapes, from Every Loser Wins to Awesome Dood!.

Between 1970 and 1990, BBC Records And Tapes released almost three hundred singles, ranging from some of the best known and most loved theme tunes in television history to full-length versions of ones that nobody had even asked for a short version of to begin with. Along the way they also put out one-off oddities by everyone from George Formby impersonators and up-and-coming folkies to a 'computer orchestra' and some posh blokes going on about how marvellous The Queen is. Oh and then there's the one that's just the sound of someone hitting a phone.

Possibly the most bafflingly diverse catalogue of singles ever issued, viewed as a whole, it's a fascinating indication of what really was popular - and sometimes unpopular - with viewers at the time. Top Of The Box tells the story behind each of these singles, taking in familiar names, cult artists and obscure bafflements alike, and including the likes of Simon May, Peter Howell, Nick Berry, David Munrow, Roy Castle, Anita Dobson, Fascinating Aida, Aled Jones, Hazel O'Connor, Richard Stilgoe, Spike Milligan, Johnny Dankworth, Eric Clapton, The Grange Hill Cast, The Dooleys, Alan Hawkshaw, Enya, Keith Mansfield, Julie Covington, Georgie Fame, Godiego, Lena Zavaroni, Brown Sauce, Alan Price, Russell Grant, Kenneth Williams, Floella Benjamin, The Not The Nine O'Clock News Team, B.A. Robertson, Paddy Kingsland, Richard Denton & Martin Cook, The BBC Radiophonic Workshop, and of course Keith Harris & Orville. So many singles by Keith Harris & Orville. Including one that wasn't even released...

You can get Top Of The Box as a paperback here or as an eBook here, or from the Kindle Store here, and - after thanking Graham Kibble-White for the excellent cover art - I'll just leave you with a couple of personal favourites from the catalogue...






It's Still A Police Box, Why Hasn't It Changed? Part One: Breakin' Down The Walls Of Hartnell


Let's face it, pretty much everyone in the known universe is doing their own heavily annotated from-the-start Doctor Who rewatch nowadays. And probably everyone in E-Space too.

And yes, as you've probably already worked out for yourselves, I've also started doing a from-the-start Doctor Who rewatch, only without the annotation-heavy element. There are, let's be honest about this, so many episode-by-episode story-by-story series-by-series in-depth reviews-slash-commentaries going on right now that if I launched one of my own it would basically have ended up playing Bonekickers to The Wife In Space's, well, Doctor Who. Which is why I had actually embarked on this epic DVD Player-hogging Bellal-heavy bonanza for no other reason than sheer personal entertainment, with the idea of taking my own critical stroll through the adventures of Hartnell and company and beyond seeming so obvious and indeed pointless an exercise that it didn't even occur to me as I sat down to watch that Kenneth Williams-esque extra pull a sarky camp face at a teen mag at the start of An Unearthly Child for something approaching the fifty three billionth time.

Anyway, that was the plan - effectively not to even have a plan beyond watching and enjoying old episodes of Doctor Who, and just plain watching The Armageddon Factor. While I was watching and enjoying, though, thoughts, opinions, observations and jokes kept inevitably occurring to me, and I ended up sharing a few of them on Twitter. People seemed to quite like these, and a couple of them suggested that I really ought to be doing this as a series of articles. And so, erm, here we are.

Like Sidney Newman and his disdain for 'B.E.M.'s, though, or indeed like Head of Drama Shaun Sutton demanding a cheaper approach, we need to establish a couple of ground rules first. As a bit of a break from the norm, and in the hope of coming up with something individual enough to make it halfway worthwhile, there'll be no narrative, no through-story, and no attempt a coherent episode-by-episode recycled-flying-insect-effect-by-recycled-flying-insect-effect critical analysis. Instead, it's just going to be a series of observations that occurred to me while watching. It's still going to be series by series though, because, well, you still have to have some kind of structure. Secondly, in the case of missing episodes, I'll be listening to the commercially-released audio recordings rather than watching any reconstructions or what have you - it's actually in some ways the most reliably closest thing we have to what viewers would actually have seen on various relevant Saturdays between 1964 and 1969, it's only right that there should be some hat-tippage towards the people who put so much effort into making these recordings available at a time when that was literally all that was left of the wiped material, and above all else I'm not playing Philip Morris' increasingly tedious game. Of course, there are a couple of officially released reconstructions which throw this 'rule' slightly off target, but we'll cross that bridge as and when. Finally, where relevant, I'll be covering a couple of extra-curricular projects which, in accordance with my self-defined rules and regulations which we won't be going into here, I consider to be more or less 'canon'. Yes, they are. Or rather they will be. Stop arguing.

Anyway, now that we've got all of that established, let's get straight into Series One...


William Hartnell Is The Best Lead Actor The Show Has Ever Had


There. I've said it. And if you want to argue, my fingers are wedged firmly in my ears. Although we're generally encouraged to think of the early black and white days as being slow, creaky and full of 'wooden' acting (as defined by the sort of people who appear to think that primetime ITV1 dramas are full of performances roughly akin to Billie Whitelaw and Keith Michell battling it out over the last remaining BAFTA in the known universe), the actual fact of the matter is that they rarely dip beneath the level of a very good stage play - and, let's face it, in some respects most television shows were essentially stage plays at that point - and that, with no offence intended, William Hartnell is several leagues ahead of pretty much anyone else he shares the screen with. Almost every eccentric slip and stumble is deliberate and intentional, any actual slip or stumble - which, y'know, sometimes happened what with it being recorded as live and that - is quickly and effectively improvised around without ever breaking character, and it's no exaggeration to say that when he's in a scene, everyone else in it ups their game considerably. So the next time someone starts up about him 'fluffing' lines and the like, bear in mind that he was initially reluctant to take the role due to being a successful and acclaimed serious film actor. He did say 'EH?' a lot, though.


The Stock Footage Invariably Looks Awful


It's not really surprising that the early years of Doctor Who should have made such sprocket-overloadingly heavy use of bits and pieces of off-the-shelf film footage from other productions, as it would have been hard and indeed costly enough for an early sixties feature film to convincingly mock up, say, a thunderstorm or a pacing lion, let alone something recorded 'as live' on a handful of sets in three quarters of a broom cupboard at Lime Grove. It doesn't really help, though, when the clips they use have the sharpness, consistency, luminance and definition of an episode of the colour Andy Pandy that's been marinaded in used dishwater infused with marscapone before being rolled down the stairs, used as makeshift dental floss, and left on top of a blast furnace for eight months. And that's even after the Restoration Team have been able to track down, clean up and neatly re-insert the original footage - lord alone knows how it must have looked back in 1963/64. Probably still better than when some Grange Hill pupils on videotape stumbled across some 'foxes' on crackly poorly-matched 16mm with a big tramline scratch, though.


The Female Characters Are Stronger And Better Defined Than Popular Opinion Would Have You Believe


Popular opinion - and the slightly less popular opinion of rentagob dimwits on clip shows - would have us all believe that Doctor Who is amongst the most problematically sexist creations in the entirety of popular culture, with 'the man' dashing around solving all of the problems and getting all of the glory, and 'the girl' left to stand in the background looking pretty, screaming a bit and handing things to him when required. There are, let's be frank, parts of the show's history where this is arguably a legitimate criticism, but the first two series are not amongst them. At this point, it's worth remembering, the show had a strident young female producer and a fifty percent female regular cast, and if the Bechdel Test is your particular favoured method of measuring worth then the overwhelming majority of those nigh on a hundred episodes pass it with ease. Even above and beyond that, Susan and Barbara will often take the lead in a storyline, facing off against Daleks, ritual historical violence and even the laws of time on their own terms, and encountering all manner of well drawn and sympathetically portrayed female characters en route. Even their less Bechdel-impressing conversations are noteworthy for a television show made in the early sixties, particularly their dealings with the numerous other ladies they meet during The Keys Of Marinus, and Susan's celebrated chat with Ping Cho about her life and expectations in Thirteenth Century China. Most notably of all, there's a lengthy scene in which Barbara and Susan reflect with some weariness on the male characters' attitude towards them, which is unfortunately undermined when, almost immediately afterwards, a statue grabs Barbara's arse.


Which is perhaps an opportune moment to move on to...


Barbara Would Seriously Get It


Well, um, we'd probably better qualify this one a bit. With very few exceptions, the focus of the 'Doctor Who Girl' has always been slanted towards the late teens/early twenties end of the scale, with successive production teams shamelessly stating their intention to use the latest cutesy thespianically-challenged sidekick with knockers straining against her ill-tailored top for little other purpose than to get 'the dads' watching. The fact that this role was originally filled by - gasp - a thirtysomething with 'sensible' wardrobe choices and a rather dated hairstyle has always generally been dismissed by fans with a worrying undercurrent of ageism as an of-its-time neccessity that nobody in their right mind would deploy now (apart from the fact that, erm, when Russell T. Davies did it really, really worked), and hapless Barbara has always found herself conveniently omitted from lists of sexy and/or 'icon'-leaning companions. There were to be no adolescent-friendly full-page Doctor Who Magazine posters of poor old Jacqueline Hill. But, with the benefit of a bit more maturity in both senses of the word, let's put a stop to that nonsense here and now and point out that you only have to watch for a couple of seconds to realise that Jacqueline was a strikingly good-looking woman (especially so in these early promo shots unearthed by Clayton Hickman), who also, when they deign to allow her to wear something a tad more with-it, clearly, er, 'has it going on' as well. Meanwhile, once the regular characters have got past the initial prickliness about being intruders in 'the ship', Barbara also emerges as a likeable and attractive character; witty, thoughtful and headstrong, and her flirting with Léon Colbert in The Reign Of Terror is really rather sweet to witness. No wonder the writers of the tie-in novels were always drooling over her. And as it's in black and white, you can pretend she has red hair too. Um, did I really just say that out loud?


There Are Too Many Fucking Rope Bridges


Got twenty five minutes of Saturday afternoon television to fill? Then why not stuff huge chunks of it full of half of your regular cast and a handful of guest stars doing desperately unconvincing 'swaying' acting as they make a protracted tension-deficient meal of their attempts to traverse a hazardous chasm by performing cramped feats of trapeze artistry with dislocated bits of a rickety-looking rope bridge whilst a sound effect snarls off-screen? Even the old Republic movie serials were never this shameless about it.


The Bit With The Ice Soldier Unexpectedly Reviving Is Extremely Effective


You can spend six months and hundreds of thousands of pounds on ambitious CGI effects, and then spend a further six months showing off about them in an endless procession of almost indistinguishable behind-the-scenes features, but sometimes you're just going to get a better result from a meticulously directed and acted sequence in which an immobile suit of armour suddenly jerks into motion in the middle of everyone else's armour-disregarding dialogue. It's also worth noting that Peter Davison claims to have been alarmed by this as a youngster - and not by The Ice Warriors as lazy clip show compilers routinely assume - which is a seal of approval that no amount of BAFTA Craft Awards can buy.


Why Does Everyone Have So Much Trouble With Aydan's Name?


It's Sentence Of Death, episode five of The Keys Of Marinus, and the travellers are transported into 'The City Of Millennium' and indeed straight into a murder mystery that they seem set to wrongly take the rap for. A bigger mystery, though, is why nobody seems to be able to agree on one single definitive pronounciation of the name of actual perpetrator Aydan. Throughout the episode you'll hear a wide range of stresses, emphases and vowel sounds, with William Hartnell alone offering more than one variation. Small wonder he nearly evaded the attention of the City's finest judicial minds.


It's Impossible To Remember Where You're Up To With The Sensorites


Black and white Doctor Who is full of stories that start well with an intriguing first episode, but quickly tail off afterwards, and nowhere is this discrepancy more evident than with The Sensorites. So much so, in fact, that if you opt to break up your viewing of it to an episode-by-episode basis (and, let's be blunt, that's the only way that anyone in their right mind ever would choose to watch it), you'll have a hard time remembering exactly which episode you're on. They all seem to meld into one after a while - it looks, sounds and feels more like an early sixties British sci-fi film than anything else in Series One, which is perhaps not surprising given Peter R. Newman's background as a screenwriter, but not necessarily a good thing in itself; for a start, it's almost twice the length of one of said films, and was made for less than a tenth of their already unimpressive average budget - and the end always seems to be impossibly far off on the horizon. Some fans have speculated that nobody has ever actually seen the last episode, and while I know for certain that I have seen it, and recently too, I couldn't tell you a single thing about it.

Anyway, that's Series One, and we'll see you again soon for Series Two, starring an Inconsistent Cat, The Other Type Of Dalek Cutaway, and Far Too Many Ants...




And if you want to read a more detailed piece on Marco Polo, The Aztecs, The Reign Of Terror and all of the other sixties historical stories, you can find one in my book Well At Least It's Free, available in paperback here or from the Kindle Store here.