Long before the Calendar Girls . . .
even before the Chippendales . . .
there was Crew 14.
We all remember it perfectly. The problem is that we all seem to remember it slightly differently. We know what happened. But we’re not completely sure how it happened. The following is a composite, trying to reconcile my own memories with those of two key players: Cameraman John Henshall and Photographer Don Smith.
February 1975. BBC Camera Crew 14, led by award-winning Senior Cameraman Dave Mutton, and specialising in studio dramas, were about to start a new classic serial: “The Girls of Slender Means”. This production was particularly memorably for a number of reasons: a superb script, by Ken Taylor, adapted from the novel by Muriel Spark; a wonderful Director, Moira Armstrong, and brilliant performances from a top-notch cast.
Some shallower observers may also remember that it involved an unusually large number of attractive young actresses taking all their clothes off.
Female nudity was not uncommon on television at the time, before the invention of Political Correctness. It was a product of the Swinging Sixties and, in BBC Drama Dept., the uninhibited, full-frontal Sixties were still swinging happily in the mid-Seventies. But, even against this background, “The Girls of Slender Means” was notable for the number of naked ladies involved.
Our story began when Senior Cameraman Dave Mutton attended the Outside Rehearsal. There he was approached by one of the Actresses. “It’s not fair,” she had complained, “I’m expected to take all my clothes off in front of an all-male Camera Crew – when I haven’t even been introduced to them!”
It was a fair point.
Dave did his best to introduce the crew, but there were too many names and faces for everyone to remember.
It was Mary Tamm who suggested that we should have a crew photograph taken, with all our names on.
Miriam Margolyes agreed. Not only should it have all our names on but, under the circumstances, we should also have no clothes on!
It was a joke, of course. No one imagined that a serious minded BBC drama Crew would do such a thing, although . . .
on thinking about it . . .
In addition to introducing ourselves, it might help to break the ice; set the cast at ease; make everyone feel more comfortable.
But there were practical reasons why we couldn’t do it. We didn’t have the facilities. We’d need access to a dark room, and the services of a professional photographer.
Enter Don Smith. In the canteen, at evening meal break, he had collected his dinner and was looking for somewhere to sit. By chance, he joined the table where Crew 14 were sitting. Don Smith was well known to all the crews at Television Centre. He worked for the ‘Radio Times’. He was a photographer.
Don recalls that it was Cameraman John Henshall who told him our story and, somehow, by the end of that meal break, we had talked ourselves into it.
(For almost 40 years I’ve wondered who was responsible! At recent reunions both Don and John have told me that they may have been the prime movers. There is only one absolute certainty – It Wasn’t My Idea!)
Tuesday, 11th February, 1975. TC3.
“The Girls of Slender Means” was set in 1945, at the May of Teck Club: a hostel for single young ladies with meagre incomes. Some of the more adventurous girls have discovered a secluded area of roof, where they can sunbathe unobserved. To reach it, they have to climb out of the bathroom window. It is a very small window, but they can just about squeeze through, provided they first take all their clothes off.
The story reaches its climax when the hostel is set ablaze by a war-time bomb. For the young women trapped inside, the best chance of escape is – through that small bathroom window . . .
Each episode required two days in the studio. At the end of Day One, after everyone else had left, the Camera Crew assembled in the roof area, where most of the nudity was to take place. Don supplied some pieces of caption card, on which we wrote our names. We took our clothes off but, in the best soft-core tradition, we kept our socks on. Then, we arranged ourselves in a suitably discrete pose. Being the quiet, shy one, I was cowering in the bottom corner. We held the name captions in front of us, to cover our . . . embarrassment,
and Don took his photograph.
Richard Lennox, Peter Fox, David John, John Henshall, David Mutton, Roger Bunce and Dave Hunter.
Only one Crew Member chickened-out.
I wanted to chicken-out, but I wasn’t brave enough.
Don went immediately back to his dark-room and worked late into the night, producing a batch of glossy 10 by 8 prints, to be distributed to the Cast, the following morning.
It seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea at the time. But . . .
Wednesday, 12th February, 1975.
Doubts were growing. We didn’t know how the finished photo would look. A naked camera crew wasn’t necessarily the most aesthetic of subjects. In fact, we might look rather sordid. And how would the Cast and Production Team react? Would they be amused, or disgusted? Would we hear laughter, or cries of, “Get those Dirty Old Men off my production, and find me a proper Crew!” – followed by disciplinary proceedings? Even if some were offended, we hoped that they would recognise our good intentions, and laugh politely.
I clearly remember being in the tea bar that morning, when the Actresses opened their envelopes . . .
The good news is that they laughed – and there was nothing remotely polite about it! This was proper squealing, giggling, riotously convulsive laughter. Under any other circumstances, such female hilarity at the sight of my bare body would have seemed deeply unflattering but, on this occasion, it was the best possible reaction. The photos were soon being passed around and discussion groups formed to assess our manly (or otherwise) physiques.
I hadn’t seen the photo myself yet. A couple of Actresses helpfully showed me theirs. They wanted to know why some of us had smooth, glossy torsos, while others had a hairier, matt finish. Never having studied the anatomy of the naked Cameraman, I was unable to provide them with any explanation.
There was also great interest in how, and to what, John Henshall had attached his name caption – since it had no visible means of support.
The ice had definitely been broken.
For the remainder of the series, the relationship between cast and crew was very friendly – in a strictly well-behaved, professional sort of way.
Rumours of female nudity in any studio tended to spread, with great efficiency, on TV Centre’s internal grapevine. As a result many male workers, who might not otherwise have felt any need to visit that particular studio, would suddenly find a vitally important reason to be there. I suspect that that particular bathroom window received more attention from painters and carpenters than any other item of BBC scenery before or since. And those responsible for studio temperature and humidity were particularly diligent in ensuring the comfort of our young ladies.
The interlopers could usually be seen, lingering around the fire lane, wearing brown or white coats, with arms folded, waiting for the cabaret to begin.
On one such occasion, the Production Manager made the usually polite call, “Could all those not involved in this scene please leave the set.”
And Miriam Margolyes, less politely, yelled, “Will all the Dirty Old Men get out!”
John Henshall gave her an apologetic look, took off his headphones, and pretended to leave, but she called him back. “No! The Dirty Young Men can stay!”
Some of the cast felt they should reciprocate our gesture. They contacted Don Smith and invited him back to their dressing room that evening. Don arrived with his camera and more pieces of caption card.
Now, when the first photo was taken, the Camera Crew had arranged themselves in position, and – at the risk of giving away technical secrets – we had kept our pants on, concealing the fact with those name cards. (Pants and double-sided sticky tape are the answer to the John Henshall question!)
When Don arrived in the dressing room, however, the four Actresses simply stripped all their clothes off, and asked him how he’d like them to pose.
I’ve always imagined that his reply was delayed by the time it took him to get his chin off the floor. Don was not usually THAT sort of photographer.
Nonetheless, he manfully did his duty. He experimented with a number of different poses. The most successful composition involved the girls standing in a line, behind one another, with the largest sheet of caption card held in front of them. In order to give the correct period atmosphere, some items of clothing, e.g. curlers, stockings and suspender-belts, were retained.
Once again, Don worked late in the dark room and, on that blank caption card, he wrote a seasonal ode.
Friday, 14th February, 1975.
For the Camera Crew, one worry remained. How would BBC Management react to our behaviour, if and when they got to hear about it? They were not noted for their sense of humour.
After a day off, Crew 14 were back in TV Centre, working on the arts programme, “Second House”. We were lounging around in the Production Gallery of TC4, when a formally uniformed BBC Commissionaire arrived. One by one he read out our names, and solemnly presented each of us with an stiffened manilla envelope.
With trepidation, we opened them. Was this Management’s response? What would it be: a summons to a disciplinary interview? Summary dismissal? We should have taken more notice of the date. It was Valentine’s Day, and inside those envelopes we found a Valentine’s greeting from the Girls of Slender Means – courtesy of Don Smith.
Miriam Margolyes, Mary Tamm, Patricia Hodge and Jane Cussons.
Dedicated to the memory of David Mutton and Mary Tamm, and all who worked on
“The Girls of Slender Means”, BBC Television Centre, 1975.
Roger Bunce
