THE Northern magazine programme People and Places little show that features the big names – stars of stage and film as well as top personalities from the worlds of music, art and sport.

The list of people who have appeared in the programme, which comes from Granada’s Manchester studios and is one of the company’s longest-running shows, is peppered with celebrities.

Here are some of the names: Lord Harewood, Henry Sherek, Katherine Dunham, Sheila Buxton, Tessie O’Shea, Dickie Henderson, Alfie Bass, Ted Lunee and Bill Fraser.

It is the sort of programme which presents the people who produce it with a never-ending streams of problems.

A phone call – sometimes just 10 minutes before the programme is due on the air – tells the producer that one of the artists has been held up and cannot get to the studio on time.

That is the kind of situation the presents a challenge to researchers like Jim Coburn, who are continually at the producer’s elbow.

The last time it happened he grabbed a taxi and drove three miles from the studios in the City Centre to the lodgings of comedian Freddie Earle. Freddie was making an omelette when Jim rushed in and said: “You’re on TV.”

Freddy [sic] dropped his fork, climbed into the taxi with Jim, and rushed to the studio as fast as traffic-choked roads would allow. He faced the cameras on an almost empty stomach and without a touch of make-up. There had been no time even for that.

“This sort of thing has happened a number of times,” said Jim. “We have had people rushing through the studio doors even during the 10-second count down to ‘on the air’ – and you can’t get much later than that!”

It happened again when Michael Holliday missed his train. The result was a frantic telephone call to jazz singer-trumpeter Leslie (Jiver) Hutchinson, who was appearing that week in Manchester.

Leslie was asked to jump into a taxi and head for the studios immediately!

Last-minute illnesses, late trains and planes, mechanical breakdowns. These are hazards which face the team that bring People And Places to the screen.

Under the heading of breakdowns comes the story of the luxurious taxi – the last word in comfort – that was sent to Blackpool to bring Dickie Henderson to Manchester for an appearance on the programme.

In Blackpool, the car developed engine trouble. So Dickie had to make the trip in an old-fashioned “boneshaker”.

The story of People And Places is not without its lighter moments, for the programme has always been liberally sprinkled with humour.

Interviewers Bill Grundy and Chris Howland started a gag with ran for weeks. It was the now-famous joke of long series of incidents carefully contrived to prevent Chris Howland singing on the programme.

It began, almost by accident, when Chris was given a singing spot – right at the end of the show. But because times ran out, the singing spot had to be cut. And on each occasion afterwards, something happened to prevent Chris being heard.

Letters began to roll in demanding that Bill should let Chris sing. But the joke went on.

Lord Harewood, who was in the programme to talk about the opening of Harewood House to the public, helped to keep it running. He told Chris: “You be down at Covent Garden at 10 am tomorrow for an audition.”

Later, Gary Miller, who was also in the conspiracy, asked Chris to sing with him in the show, but he said Chris would have to have a straw hat and cane if he wanted to take up the invitation.

Everybody thought that Howland would at last be heard. He dashed away for the vital hat and cane. But when he got back – breathless, and consequently unable to sing – only two bars of the number remained.

Chris continued to “campaign.” In a demonstration in which he was seen accompanied by about two dozen girl supporters, he carried a large board bearing the demand: HOWLAND MUST SING.

And Howland did. Standing beside a fountain in the studio grounds, he sang The Rain Falls On Everybody. It certainly on Chris, for Bill was seen busy at a tap. Chris got drenched.

There have been moments of unintentional humour, too. One of these came when the Spanish guitarist Pepe Martinez had to be coached to answer two questions in his very limited English.

The questions were: How long have you been in England and how long does it take to become a good flamenco dancer?

The answers, in the correct order, were six weeks and 25 years. Pepe gave them the wrong way round!

The People And Places team recall the time, too, when things got really hot, at the end of a demonstration of action painting. Part of the action was to set fire to the painting. The artist did. And because the show was under-running its time limit, the cameraman had to hold the shot as the flames leapt upwards.

A studio fireman stood by with an extinguisher, powerless to act because if he had done he would have put himself between in the line of the camera.

Said producer David Main: “Though we like to be up to the minute with items of interest to our viewers, we do not aim to be quite so hot on the trail as we were on that occasion.”

The post Getting people and places together appeared first on THIS IS GRANADA from Transdiffusion.

THE “shower” of Hut 29 will fall in on parade again on Tuesday, when Granada’s The Army Game returns. But with a difference that is not really a difference. It comes back with two of the favourites from the early days — William Hartnell as Company-Sgt-Major Bullimore, and Geoffrey Sumner as Major Upshot-Bagley.

Geoffrey Sumner’s return also means the return of Major Upshot-Bagley’s pigs. Harry Fowler continues as “Flogger” Hoskins, Ted Lune soldiers on as Pte Bone, and Mario Fabrizi as Merryweather. But Alfie Bass has left the Army and Dick Emery replaces him.

“Wait until I get my hands on that ‘shower’!” exclaimed Bill Hartnell, who takes over from Bill Fraser. Fraser, with Alfie Bass, begins a civvy street series. “They’ve been getting off too lightly. More discipline, that’s what they need. Things are going to change when I get back!” He was obviously pleased to be returning to the show. “But when it was suggested, my first reaction was that it wouldn’t be a good idea,” he admitted. “It just wouldn’t be the same unless I was teamed with Geoffrey Sumner again.

“But Peter Eton, the producer, told me that he was negotiating with Geoffrey Sumner, which sounded too good to be true. The only reason for Sumner leaving the cast was that he couldn’t cope with a weekly programme.

“So I didn’t really expect he would be able to do it this time. But he said he could fit it in as the programme was on Tuesdays. I was delighted, and that’s why I am back. There’d have been no sense in trying to do it with anyone else. Geoffrey and I originated the roles, built them up and understood one another.

“We can work together. Our timing fits. I can’t stand changes, anyway. I suppose it’s because I have an organised brain. I’m a disciplinarian to myself.”

Geoffrey Sumner explained: “There will be no change in our characters, but we are not going to attempt to carry on exactly where we left off. We are allowing for the fact that there has been a gap of three years. The impression we hope to give is that Bullimore and I have been together somewhere else, and now we’ve come across a new ‘shower,’ heaven help ’em!

“The pigs? Of course. Upshot-Bagley wouldn’t go anywhere without his pigs.”

In fact, Geoffrey Sumner, who lives on a 15-acre farm in Surrey, is a pig-keeper and pig-lover. At various periods he has had herds of 150 or more, and there is never a time when his farm is without them.

“So it isn’t a gag in The Army Game,” he assured me. “I like pigs. People make fun of them, but they are the most intelligent of all farm animals. They are also the cleanest.

“But the trouble with pigs is that they regard themselves as your equal and won’t be bossed. That’s why you never see them in The Army Game.

“We tried it at the beginning of the series when we had a real Rosie in the studios. It was disastrous. She took complete charge of the proceedings, refused to stand still, ignored the camera — except to try to eat the pedestal — and generally ran riot.

“Fortunately, we introduced Rosie when we were doing a ‘dry run,’ so, by the time we got to transmission. Rosie was heard but not seen ”

Alas, the pig on which Rosie was based — she was one of Geoffrey Sumner’s herd, of course — is dead. But one of her progeny won first prize last year in the National Farmers’ Union field contest.

Geoffrey Sumner was in the Army during the war years and reached the rank of colonel. Did he have a Sergeant-Major like Bullimore?

“Fortunately not,” he said with a chuckle, and introduced me to his personal assistant, a tall, brown-haired, green-eyed girl named Peggy Warrington. “She was my real Army admin sergeant,” he said.

“I chose her because I was fascinated by the way she wore her cap. It was perched right on the top of her head. Made her look positively Edwardian. An excellent admin sergeant she turned out to be, too.”

Soon after the war, when he was looking for a personal assistant, Geoffrey Sumner sought out Peggy Warrington. She has been with him since.

The most important newcomer to the cast, Dick Emery, is not exactly a stranger to the “shower ” He has been in previous Army Game productions, playing various parts.

Bill Hartnell summed up: “I think we’re going to be a happy family. We’ll certainly have a jolly good go at it.”

The post Storms ahead for the ‘shower’ of Hut 29 appeared first on THIS IS GRANADA from Transdiffusion.

When Alfie Bass and Bill Fraser, stars of Bootsie and Snudge, are invited out for the evening, there is always the question — do they go as Bass and Fraser or Bootsie and Snudge? But when an invitation to the principal inhabitants of television’s Imperial Club came from a real-life Imperial Club, there was no doubt about it — the night out was for Bootsie and Snudge. And it went something like this …

THE major-domo of the Imperial Club, resplendent in his uniform, was looking through the post piled on the reception desk. “‘Ullo, ‘ullo, what’s this then?” exclaimed Snudge. “A letter addressed to not nobody else but me.” Then he added, with a look of deep disgust at his assistant in the corner: “And that one over there.”

As Bootsie came up, Snudge tore the envelope open. Inside was a piece of notepaper headed “The Imperial Club.”

“And what for would the Imperial Club be of writing to us ‘ere in this Imperial Club?” he asked, aggressively.

“Look,” said Bootsie, peering under his shoulder “It’s got a different address. It’s another Imperial Club, in South London.”

And, taking the piece of paper from Snudge’s hands, he read slowly: “As your club has the same name as our club, we are inviting you both to be our guests.”

Snudge fixed his beady eye on Bootsie and inquired in his most indignant tones: “And ‘ow do you think your name ‘appened to get writ on to this smart piece of hembossed stationery?”

Cried Bootsie: “I’m as good as you.”

“Not,” declared the major-domo firmly, “when it’s an hinvitation to a swurry.”

On the journey, there was a mood of ill-suppressed excitement about the pair. “I’ve got no doubt,” confided Snudge in a hoarse whisper, “but what there’ll be a lot of financiers and company directors at this ’ere club we’re going to.”

“Yes,” burst in Bootsie, “and famous surgeons with lovely hands and all that.”

Walking down Kennington-lane, however. the mood began to change. “You know,” remarked Snudge. “this is a strange district for the hoi polloi.”

However, they reached the club building. and were quickly greeted by Jim Pringle, the steward. “Tell me,” said Snudge, looking round the clubroom with an air of gracious authority, “which one is Charles Clore? I know ’im. of course, but is face ’as slipped me memory.” Jim looked puzzled. Meanwhile Bootsie was glancing round anxiously. “I bet that one’s a surgeon,” he announced, pointing to a man in the corner. “Look at the way he’s holding his beer in his lovely long fingers.”

“I think,” the steward interposed, “you must be under some misapprehension. Do you know what this club is?”

“Why,” cried Snudge, an anxious tone creeping in, “it’s one of the famous abodes of the hupper crust, isn’t it not?” “No,” Jim replied, roaring with laughter. ‘This is the club for the NAAFI workers in London.”

Snudge was a sight to be seen. Drawing himself up to his full height he exploded: “Even when I was in the Army I didn’t not go near the NAAFI.”

Bootsie took the blow more calmly “Well, never mind, eh?” he remarked. And moving over to the bar he added: “If you don’t have any surgeons, have you got any winkles or shrimps? Or…” and here his eyes lit up, “any jelly babies?”

“I’m afraid not,” chuckled Jim. “Would girls do instead? This is a mixed club.”

Snudge began to mellow. “Now you come to mention it,” he recalled, “I do remember a NAAFI girl what used to be at No 3 Disposal Camp…”

Someone put a disc on the record player and a tall blonde approached Bootsie. “Well, all right,” he said, “but if I have a dance wiv you, mind me feet.” And he limped on to the floor.

Snudge twirled his moustache. “Yes, my dear.” he said in reply to a question from a tiny brunette. “I was the pride of the sergeants’ mess at Poona. When it came to glide round the old floor there wasn’t no one who couldn’t touch me, not nohow.”

As his partner rocked her way through the number, however, doubt began to flit through his mind. “Are you quite sure,” he demanded, “that this is the Lancers?”

In search of a little rest after the strain of the dance, Bootsie and Snudge joined a whist party in an adjoining room.

But the peace and quiet was short-lived. Snudge’s beady eyes swivelled too firmly in the direction of Bootsie’s cards. “’Ere,” exclaimed Bootsie indignantly. “No lookin’ – and no splashin’.”

Snudge refused to be put out. “Haven’t you got the double six?” he asked blandly.

As he played his next card a cry came from Bootsie: “You’ve revoked!”

Flashing a look of reproach. Snudge rejoined: “If you hadn’t spoken, nobody wouldn’t never not know I’d revoked.”

They were at the snooker table when Steward Pringle approached them once “We were wondering,” he asked diffidently, “if you would both be so good as to give us the benefit of your professional experience?”

Snudge smirked. “Well,” he said con condescendingly, “when it comes to knowing about serving delicacies to the hot polloi, I’m your man. Camel curry, with goat’s brains on the side-plate, Mafeking pudding… no, not that,” he added hurriedly.

“And,” put in Bootsie, “I know all about the delicate jobs. All the ones that need fine handling and cartful fingers. Beds, for example … sleeping on ‘em and that.”

“Actually,” replied Jim, “we were thinking more of such things as washing up and cleaning the place out.”

As the last member of the NAAFI Imperial Club slipped away, Bootsie was busy on a sink-full of dirty crocks.

Snudge, who had confined himself to expert advice on how much washing-up liquid to put in the water, looked at his watch.

“Well,” he said to Bootsie, “I’ll be leavin’ you now.”

Pulling his NAAFI overall closer around him, Bootsie plunged his hands into the suds with an air of hatred. “You rotten droopy drawers,” he hissed at the spruce figure rapidly vanishing through the doorway.

The post Night out for Bootsie and Snudge appeared first on THIS IS GRANADA from Transdiffusion.

A new Granada comedy series Bootsie and Snudge begins next Friday. It features those two characters from The Army Game — Sergeant-Major Claude Snudge, played by Bill Fraser, and Bootsie, played by Alfie Bass. But they have left the Army. TV TIMES writers Frank Duesbury and Charles Bayne met them in Civvy-street

WE were strolling down King’s-road in London’s Chelsea when we noted something odd. Not the sort of normal odd thing you would expect to see about Chelsea, which is famous for its oddities.

It was the sight of Sergeant-Major Claude Snudge and his old enemy Bootsie in civvies.

Snudge was leading by about 20 yards, his beady eyes squinting in one of those rare bursts of late summer sunshine. He was immaculate in a business suit, white shirt, nattily knotted tie, and a well-brushed Homburg.

Bootsie was trailing behind, scowling. He was clad in a sweater, trousers and his best plimsolls, which have fewer holes in them than his second-best pair.

“Mr Snudge,” we ventured, “why are you not in uniform?”

“Are you addressing me, sirs?” he snapped, his thumbs, we noted, stiffly pointing down the seams of his immaculate pin-stripe trousers.

We said we were, and perhaps he would like to come and have a drink. And Bootsie, too. “Not wiv him, never,” said Bootsie, who had drawn up beside us.

“I will have a drink with you gentlemen in the saloon bar of this ’ere public house,” said Snudge.

“And I’ll be in the private bar,” said Bootsie testily, hobbling away.

We asked Snudge what he would like to drink. “Bearing in mind me new life I think I’d like a gin and mixed,” he said with an evil smile, “because I’m going to be mixing it.”

He smoothed his waistcoat, deftly snapped a cherry stick between his thumb and forefinger and said: “I am going to be a company director, but I have not decided which company shall have the benefit of my experience. I am in considerable demand.”

We said his experience with the men of Hut 29 in The Army Game should help.

“Help,” spluttered Snudge. “It is invaluable. If there was any of them takeover bids knocking around, Snudge would know. Anything dodgy going off and Snudge would sort that little lot out. Not no how they won’t make a ‘nana’ out of me.

“Then there’s me upbringing, me stature. There’s them that’s got it and them that ain’t. Like speaking proper.” Snudge paused to sip his drink. “I shall have a car, chauffeur-driven of course, two secretaries, and occasional trips abroad,” he said. “No more of that Bootsie and his pals for Snudge. I am now going to live the life of a gentleman, manipulatin’ millions of pounds, thousands of men, machines, exports, imports.

“Power is what I’m trained to, and power is what I am going to be. If I can handle Hut 29 I can handle anything.”

We left Snudge planning his company reports to join Bootsie in the private bar. He was sitting on one stool with his aching feet resting on the rung of another.

“Am I glad to see the back of him,” said Bootsie, nodding towards Snudge several yards away. “It’s worth being in the Army just to be able to say goodbye – to horrors like Snudge.”

Well, we said, what are you going to do, Bootsie? “Me,” he cried, his face lighting up. “I’m just going to do good for everyone. I’m going to be a politician.”

We said we would have a drink while he explained. “Yes,” said Bootsie. “I’ve seen so much unhappiness in the world brought about by that rotten old Snudge that all I want to do is make people happy. Especially them with bad feet.”

He looked serious and went on: “When you have suffered as much as I have, with feet and Snudge, and all the time spent in the medical room of any Army camp, you get to understand the needs of people.

“That is why I have such compassion. I feel for the underdog. I’ll fight his case, because there are Snudges throughout the land.

“I can see myself now, making my maiden speech in the Commons. The deathly hush as the Members listen to my argument, one that would make Flogger Hoskins proud to call me his mate.

“‘Oh, Bootsie, Bootsie!’ they’ll shout when I sit down. I can see it all now … the newspaper headlines … the interviews … my Private Member’s Bill for free plimsolls for bad feet sufferers … Can’t you see it all, eh?”

We said we could. More or less.

Bootsie wriggled on his stool and muttered: “But I never want to do anything for Snudge. Except to make him unhappy. If I ever meet him again in Civvy-street, I’ll have him. I’ll have him.”

How, we ventured, was Bootsie going to get elected to Parliament? He gave us a conspiratorial wink. “It’s being fixed,” he said. “I’m already at the top of the top ten at Speakers’ Corner, Hyde Park. The crowds love me. I just can’t help being popular.”

With that, he finished his drink, slipped from his seat and limped through the door into the bustling street. Ahead of him was Snudge, still 20 yards away …

They were heading for the Labour Exchange. A company director, a Member of Parliament? That is what they said. We shall have to wait and see.

The post Bootsie and Snudge in Civvy-street appeared first on THIS IS GRANADA from Transdiffusion.

THE moment Harry Fowler takes off the uniform he wears as Cpl “Flogger” Hoskins, The Army Game‘s organising genius, he becomes a real-life organiser of practical jokes.

Says Harry: “I find people I meet go through life so seriously — except for the boys in the show. Maybe it’s because I’m a Londoner (he is a Cockney from Lambeth), but I can’t resist playing jokes.”

Tommy Steele has helped in some of Harry’s jokes. Last year they shared a flat for three months. “We borrowed a car without an engine from a car-dealer friend,” said Harry. “We got a push down hill, steered it into a garage and ordered two gallons of petrol. When I pulled the starter nothing happened, of course, so asked the man to look under the bonnet, while Tommy and I went to the office to pay.

“When we returned, the mechanic was gaping under the empty bonnet. ‘What have you done with our engine?’ I asked. ‘He’s stolen it,’ said Tommy. We spent several minutes insisting it was there when we drove in, and threatened to send for the police if it wasn’t put back!

“Finally we admitted it was a joke, but chap never fathomed how we got the car into the garage.”

American film actor Keefe Brasselle, who starred in The Eddie Cantor Story, was another butt for Fowler’s fun.

Said Harry: “We were filming at Walton Studios, where The Adventures of Robin Hood series was made. Our dressing-room accommodation wasn’t so hot, and Keefe compared his room to the one he had in Hollywood.

“That gave me an idea. The Robin Hood unit was on holiday. I got one of the boys to take Richard Greene’s name off his dressing-room door and replace it with Harry Fowler.

“I went to Keefe’s room — we had to learn some lines together — looked amazed and said: ‘Is this your room? Well, I can’t believe it. It’s not a patch on mine … but then I suppose your status over here is a little different. Why don’t you come along to my room?’ It was three days before he caught on. I reckon they were the unhappiest he spent in England.”

Harry still doesn’t know what significance the US Navy placed on his top secret “code” message. “One of their crack submarines was visiting Britain, and I rang London HQ saying ‘I’m Lew-tenant Eagle’ and gave the sub’s name.

“I was put through to a lieutenant commander and gave him precise instructs to memorise this message for his chief. ‘Will have Big Ben blown-up by Two – Eagle.’ He said he would make sure it was passed on!”

Harry insists he doesn’t set out to harm anyone, though one of his jokes misfired with embarrassing results — for him.

“Gerald Campion and I were filming in Top of the Form at Pinewood. Gerry became sleepy and, of all places, chose the studio floor for a nap. While he slept, I got a small hammer and, as quietly as possible, nailed the edges of his coat to the floor.

“That was the day Rank’s managing director John Davis chose to visit the set. The first thing he saw was Gerry asleep — and when someone woke him up poor Gerry was stuck to the floor! I got a dressing-down after that one.”

Bill Fraser (CSM Snudge) comes in for some of “Floggers” Fowlerisms.

“Alfie Bass and I phoned him from a party at 3am, using Eastern accents, said we were calling from India, and would the CSM like a commission in the Indian Army?

“We’re all practical jokers at rehearsals. We bought Frank Williams, our OC, a trick telescope. He wondered why people kept staring at him, until he found he’d been walking round with a black eye.”

Harry even jokes with his fans.

“They stop me and say, ‘You’re “Flogger” Hoskins,’ so I switch from my usual accent and say in a lah-di-da voice: ‘About 14 people tell me that every day. Who is he?’

“Some of them aren’t convinced, but I hear a lot go away saying, ‘No, he can’t be: he speaks so differently.’”

It was Diana Dors’ first husband, Dennis Hamilton, who got further than anyone in giving Harry a dose of his own medicine.

“He phoned saying he was an agent and would I sing a new song over the phone for him. I was half-way through the chorus before I realised it was a gag.”

The post ‘Flogger’ Hoskins – what a card! appeared first on THIS IS GRANADA from Transdiffusion.

THERE is nothing very special about the Nether Hopping transit camp and surplus ordnance depot. Motorists passing by as they speed along the arterial road never give it a second glance.

It is a ramshackle, miserable-looking hutment camp, three miles from the nearest village and 10 from the nearest town. A camp forgotten by the War Office, where life follows the same lazy routine.

This is the scene of Granada’s new fortnightly comedy, The Army Game.

The peace of Nether Hopping is, however, rudely shattered by the arrival of five newcomers.

“Fly” boy of the outfit is Cockney Cpl. Springer, played by Michael Medwin. He’s the type who sizes up the situation in his first three days in the Army and decides that the rest of the two years will be one long scrounge.

Only regular among them is Pte. Brisley (Alfie Bass) who is called “Bootsie” because he’s been excused boots for most of his Service life. He’s the pessimist of the group.

Then there’s Pte. Hatchett (Charles Hawtrey), who for obvious reasons is nicknamed “Professor.” He’s the barrack-room lawyer.

Pte. Popplewell (Bernard Bresslaw), better known as “Popeye,” is a giant who represents the brute strength of the quintet.

Finally there is Pte. Cook who, on the strength of all the parcels he receives from his fond mother, has the nickname “Cup Cake.”

Collectively, the five are a major threat to the smooth running of any camp – a quality which has kept them on the move. They are determined that their travels must end. But they haven’t counted on Company Sergeant-Major Bullimore (William Hartnell). He does his best to run Nether Hopping on service lines, but he is getting rather tired of the effort.

It is inevitable that a meeting between such a group and a man like Bullimore should be the start of a private war in which no quarter is given and none asked.

Quite happy to let the sergeant-major run the camp his own way is the O.C. Major Upshott-Bagley (Geoffrey Sumner) realised that when he was given the least responsible job the War Office could find for him he had reached the pinnacle of his career. He is content to vegetate until he is pensioned off.

The Army Game has been devised as a riotous comedy – but it is not a farce. The situations may be a little larger than life, but they are based on incidents that could happen in any Army camp.

In this all-male cast, Granada have found people who look the part and who can act the part from personal experience.

Geoffrey Sumner, for instance, joined the Army in 1939 as a second-lieutenant and finished up in New Delhi as a colonel.

Bernard Bresslaw feels quite in character as one of the inmates of Hut 29. He was a private in the RASC. And William Hartnell had a private’s-eye view of the war in the Tank Corps. His promotion didn’t come until he left the Army in 1943 and Carol Reed made him a sergeant for his part in The Way Ahead.

Alfie Bass was a dispatch rider. About the characters in The Army Game he says: They could be real people.”

Scriptwriter Sid Colin was in the RAF. To make sure he gets his technical facts right, Granada have appointed a military adviser, Major John Foley. And the War Office have provided a liaison officer and given him permission to visit any Army camp he likes in search of authentic material.

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