Diaries by Bernard Newnham

All cameramen keep diaries, because it’s the only way they know when they are working in a very irregular lifestyle. I stopped being a cameraman in 1977 – 25 years ago as I write – but I still have all the diaries from my 11 years in tech-ops.

On the rare occasions I look at them I always regret that I wasn’t any kind of Samuel Peyps. The days just have a programme title and a studio. For instance, on 22nd to the 24th November 1967 I was in TC3 working on a Wednesday Play. That’s it – I know no more. The 20 year old me had no idea that the Wednesday Play would later be regarded as a milestone in the development of British television.

Of course, for tech-ops anoraks, the date and place tell a lot about the technical aspects of the production. It would have been shot in black and white on six Marconi MK4 cameras, probably all with turret lenses – except perhaps for poor old camera 6, who may have been lumbered with a large Angenieux zoom lens with a dodgy “quick start” servo. Camera one may have been on a Mole crane, or if unlucky a Mk1 Heron – the one without the pedals, and some poor tracker would have suffered the whole three days trying to hit very accurate marks with the machine from hell!

The play would have been rehearsed for most of the three days, and recorded in scene-sized or larger chunks on tape or 35mm film. Video tape machines were the earliest VR1000 2-inch type, and any editing would require physical cutting of the tape. If the production decided to do this, it had to actually buy the tape from VT, so most tried not to (and that’s the way much valuable archive was lost). This particular drama probably could have afforded it, but they might have preferred to cut 35mm film instead. One of the jobs of junior chaps like me was to go down to the studio during recording line-up, and uncap a camera and turn off the orbitting so that film recording could set up. I used the time practicing crabbing and craning in the hope that some perspicacious senior cameraman would notice a genius – but either I wasn’t or they weren’t, generally.

Picking another arbitrary date from an arbitrary diary – TC3 28th September 1970 1130-2215, followed by 29th Sept 1000-2230. A typical two day drama schedule. By now, three years on, TC3 is colour, with EMI 2001 cameras – the best of studio colour cameras and in use for 20 or more years. The drama was Jude the Obscure, with Robert Powell, newly a star from Doomwatch, as Jude. The crew had done all of Doomwatch, so we were all good friends, but as the drama became gloomier each episode, so even cheerful people like Robert became ratty. A high – or low – point came with the nude scene. We’d been working up to this for a couple of episodes, and the actress really didn’t want to do it. When the time came, the atmosphere was electric – she was only going to do it once, and those of us involved were incredibly nervous. My colleague on the next camera over had to track in past her. It was fine on rehearsals, but when she finally got her top off on tape, he crashed loudly into the bed and the shot wobbled badly. That’s the way it stayed. We all have our embarrassing moments, and I was glad that one wasn’t mine!

I only opened two pages in the diaries, and there are around 4000. Each one sparks memories of the time when television was the daily centre of our culture – and we were there!

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I thought of trying to write an intro to this next piece to explain what “Pres A and B” were and other relevant stuff to help visitors, but I’ve decided not to – if you weren’t there you won’t understand what this is all about – you just need to understand that once upon a time, making tv was such fun….

From Mike Cotton…

I’m sure you remember the procession of Sound people sent to mix in Pres, I did my share and also volunteered to stay in Pres B for quite a while. It was the only chance we had of mixing music then.

It was hard work on one’s own but great fun. I even chatted to Paul MaCartney when he was in the gallery sitting next to me watching his then girl friend Jane Asher being interviewed. My daughter was disgusted I didn’t get his autograph! Then there was Kiri Te Kanawa in her early days – couldn’t get the microphone far enough away to avoid overload – no such things as attenuators then.

Fanny Craddock standing on her BK6 (lanyard mic) and the mic falling onto the floor and all the standby stand mic picked up was her thumping hell out of a chicken. Being accused of racism (jokingly I hope) by Larry Adler. I’d recorded a backing track with the musicians without him being there and on transmission played the last section in after his solo in the wrong place! I was given signed copies of two “Hollies” albums after a 1/2 hour show directed by Steve Turner – I hoped this would not be counted as Payola.

All those times down in Hospitality – Tom Corcoran had a wheeze of pouring the sherry away and filling it up with Whisky as they only replaced empty bottles. Unfortunately after a couple of such escapades they gave us a different trolly so some poor sherry drinking person had a shock. One evening I was asked to entertain a pop group in B205 until the studio was ready. The group didn’t turn up but I had to check the contents to see they were potable. I only ever got stopped once on the journey home, I was driving a Land Rover at the time, for one of the side lights not working. How ever did we survive unscathed in those days before the breathaliser and how do you explain getting home at 5 in the morning having spent the night in VT watching “City Varieties 100th edition”, at least thats what it was labelled!

The only sour note came when **** (if you were there, you can insert appropriate name. B.) heard that “Humph” was going to play and insisted on mixing it. I don’t think he had ever worked so hard with the primitive facilities we had available – no limiters and echo room 2 if we were lucky and what microphones weren’t in use down below.

Pres A……..

I think the scariest bit was down to Pat Hubbard. In order to release the “Voice” he got us to record the VT sound and then add the OOV to it and then VT would record in sound only the composite sound track. It involved getting the pip at -4 synced up. The only item I missed in the years I was up there was when “Daniel Christianson” (Ray Moore under an assumed name so that he could be paid as freelance whilst still having a BBC staff job. B) and I were sent off the bar. We returned to see the transmission lights going out and Pat Hubbard saying ” don’t worry, I’ve done the sound before” It was Christmas time after all.

I never could work out how one camerman did the late weather.They threatened to make me do it one night. One night we recorded the sound of the late weather on the tape machine and got Jack Scott to review the VT (“Was it OK? Jack”) and played the sound in with a slight delay. He didn’t even notice it. He towed a huge caravan round Scotland with a Morris 1100. Bert Food used to amuse us with his days on weather ships in the Atlantic and how they nearly claimed salvage on an abandoned ship.

Dick Graham, another regular OOV voice, could speak backwards and on replaying forwards it sounded quite reasonable. He even managed to carry on when we put his own sound from the replay head of the recording tape machine back to his headphones. He used to regale us with tales of “Dwoil Flunking” (don’t ask) at village fetes. Putting network sound onto the studio speakers took some getting use to and a degree of trust on both sides so that the weather man didn’t jump the gun and cause a late fade and we didn’t fade up before the hand over had finished. Deaf aids, what are they?

Who was the director who started his trail for the forthcoming attactions with a close up of the word “TURD” and came out in seies of zooms to reveal the full SaTURDday. I think he got sent to Manchester as them upstairs didn’t appreciate it. He also insisted on having the series “British Empire” called “Brutish Empire”. Pehaps he came from the antipodes. Film ‘xx and “call me Chuck” Heston.

Some people resented having to work in Pres, but I thoroughly enjoyed my time up there, apart from Christmas time. I still have some of the (audio) tapes after, heaven forbid, 35 years (and it don’t seem a day too long. Sorry, wrong song) The AP shift pattern meant I could “dig” with the Museum of London all over Roman Brentford on days off , and on those days when “B” wasn’t wanted until 1600, were spent digging and then a quick shower and off to work. I did this for about 7 years off and on.

The enforced STO course I went on was spent drawing Roman Pottery and small finds for publication and I even managed to pass with 66% without any work at all which was more than some of those who sweated over the exam (We SA1s were incumbents whose posts had been uprgaded and didn’t need to pass but had to go to satisfy the requirements) The vision lads did tell me to answer the vision questions with “PAL corrects errors in hue at the expense of saturation” and “Second shelf operation cures moire patterning”, what ever that means. The other memory is of Graham Wilkinson only exceeding 100mph going uphill on the M40 and passing cups of coffee between vehicles going at high speeds.

Don’t tell the grandchildren!

A few memories of Riverside Studios by Peter Ward

I was hoping that recent trawls for missing BBC programmes would unearth 35mm copies of ‘Troubleshooters’, the BBC drama series about the oil industry. In the mid-sixties I took part in a short lived BBC trial using 35mm Arriflex cameras with an industrial type vidicon camera bolted to the side deriving its image from, I believe, a special mirror shutter fitted to the Arris. I think a similar system using Mitchell cameras had been called ‘AdVision or ‘AdiVision’.

The intention was to produce ‘Troubleshooters’ in the normal way ­ a two day rehearse/recording using three cameras as if recording on tape but instead of a video tape master, the end result was to provide a 35mm film copy that could be sold overseas without the degradation of converters. The recording took place at Riverside Studio 1 and the show was rehearsed and shot as a multi camera production.

The vision mixer cut between the non­broadcast industrial cameras to provide a video ‘guide’ track whilst also running the Arriflex cameras just before each shot was taken. Her job was to economise on film and therefore she would run the appropriate film camera from the gallery just before it was required and when it was up to speed, cut to the industrial vidicon then run the next film camera, cut to that, and then stop the first camera. On a fast cutting sequence the cameras were left running but the system hiccup from the cameraman’s point of view was that as the film camera got up to speed his picture, derived from the shutter, broke up completely and only settled mini seconds before the shot was to be used. At the crucial moment when the shot was needed, after re­positioning and framing, the viewfinder picture broke up and by luck and by golly you hoped that it was sharp and framed at the point the picture settled and you were instantly cut to. Film from all the cameras were then edited against the ‘non-broadcast’ video master.

But as cameramen, our troubles did not end there. The 35mm Arriflex, heavily blimped, were hefty items to crab and crane around on their peds. We attempted to shoot ‘Troubleshooters’ with normal video camera development but found it an uphill struggle. When we saw the finished result ­ the film from the three cameras edited together and projected on a normal cinema screen we discovered even worse problems. The low quality industrial cameras provided a low quality viewfinder and the focus zones were so much more obvious on a large projected image than they had been in the viewfinder. Any camera movement on shot jumped and bumped over Studio 1 floor and that gave us cause for concern as well.

The condition of Riverside Studio 1 floor was the result of a number of ‘tough’ productions across it in the preceding years such as ‘Six Five Special’. There was a musical called ‘Carissimia’ with Ginger Rogers and David Hughes set in Vienna complete with mini canal and Gondolier – the canal leaked during transmission.
And there was a Western (I think starring Rod Steiger) using Studio One and Two. I believe the production could only afford one horse so it was constantly led back and forth at the end of the western street in long shot.
Hancock, Quatermass, Dixon of Dock Green and an ill-fated weekly soap ‘Starr & Co’ also came from Riverside.
A rowdy gang of teddy boys once threatened to disrupt a live transmission of Six Five Special. Their favourite “joke” was to stand on camera cables and bring you to a shuddering stop. An enterprising floor manager a few minutes before transmission ran into Studio Two where Dixon was being rehearsed to follow on from Six Five and enlisted the help of a number of police “extras”. The South Kensington actors in uniform enjoyed their moment of glory and cleared the offending teddy boys out of the studio.

Riverside Studios, before TV Centre was opened, was better equipped than the Grove and was certainly a more pleasant place to work. There was a terrace outside Studio 1 overlooking the Thames which was a favourite ‘resting’ place during summer afternoons. It was often used to mount a camera for the Boat Race but for one edition of Barry Bucknell’s ‘Do­ It ­Yourself’ programme, the director put a camera out on the terrace. The programme often started with a shot of the item that Barry was going to build or repair. For this edition, the camera panned across Hammersmith Bridge at the top of the show, no doubt attracting considerable interest from do­it­yourself enthusiasts across the UK who fancied themselves as hardboard bridge builders.

Barry was known by sound mixers as the hesitant hammer. He had a trick of starting a sentence, raising his hammer as if to strike thereby causing the sound mixer to pull back the fader to avoid an overload. Barry would then speak a few words to finish his sentence forcing the sound mixer swiftly to bring the mod back up again just at the moment Barry crashed the hammer down wrapping the PPM needle around the end stop.

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The First Time I Tracked a Mole Crane by Roger Bunce

1965. I was a very junior trainee Dolly Operator, newly arrived at TV Centre. And I hadn’t been to Evesham yet, so my ignorance of all things technical was profound. I was rigging in Studio E, Lime Grove, when I received an urgent call from Allocations. Could I go immediately to the Studio next door, where the Crew were short handed?

I hastened to Studio D. It was “Blue Peter”. The Crew had rigged and rehearsals were just beginning. They urgently needed someone to track the Mole Crane. I hurried to the Mole. The Cameraman was Mike Figini. He was offering a Wide Shot of presenter Christopher Trace, who was sitting in a mock-up of a tube train.

Even as I climbed aboard Mike was signalling me to track in to a closer shot. I had never used a Mole before, nor even seen one, and, having missed the rig, I had had no opportunity to ask anyone about it. I quickly checked the controls. It all seemed straightforward enough; two throttle levers and a steering wheel.

Then I looked for the “Dead Man’s Handle”. The only dollies I had tracked before were the Heron and the Vintern Motorised. Both of these have a Dead Man’s Handle, i.e. a pedal on the Tracker’s platform, which had to be held down by the Tracker’s bodyweight in order to activate the motor. It worked as a safety cutout. Should the Tracker dismount or fall off the platform, the pedal would be released and the motor would immediately be disabled. I saw a bar, just in front of my toes. I put my foot on it and it depressed satisfactorily. Clearly, this was a pedal. It must be the Dead Man’s Handle.

Thus after a split-second’s self-training, and feeling that I knew what I was doing, I attempted to track in. I put my foot down firmly on the pedal and pushed the throttles forward. The whole crane shuddered and trembled. Then it began to move forward, very slowly, in a series of jerks and twitches. Despite holding the pedal down with my full bodyweight and pushing both throttles fully forward, the Mole was only managing a very reluctant, stuttering movement. Everyone was staring at us, puzzled. Evidently there was a fault on the crane, but we would sort that out later. The priority now was to line up the shot.

After a long embarrassing judder, Mike Figini felt that the shot was tight enough and signalled me to stop. So – I took my foot off the pedal – – –

The crane shot forward like a rocket.

Instinctively I stamped my foot down again, and pulled back the throttles. We stopped violently, but not before Mike’s Mid-Shot of a smiling Chris Trace had crashed into a Big Close Up of a terrified Chris Trace! We had almost pinning him against the set. To his credit, Mike held focus remarkably well. And, once he had recovered from the shock, Chris Trace thought the whole thing was very funny. In this drastic way, I first learned that a Mole Crane does not have a Dead Man’s Handle – just a brake.

Here are two not-tech-ops stories about Pres B

These are re-prints from stuff I’ve written elsewhere……..

Pres B was a small studio on the fourth-and-a-half floor of Television Centre. It isn’t there now, as it was destroyed for some network control rooms that were used for a very few years then abandoned. Pres B was pretty historic, as it had hosted Late Night Line Up and it’s descendants such as Colour Me Pop and Old Grey Whistle Test, and lots more. The famous mechanical Christmas Symbols lived there for a few days each year. It had hosted Film 90-something since Film 90-something had been Film 70-something, and also Points of View.

When Producer Choice came along, the studio scheduling department became a cost centre, renting building space (the studios) from Premises Operations, and selling it on to productions. As the selling process went through, the overhead cost grew heavy with the weight of employing more accountants, on top of the weight of the film library, the gram library, the programme complaints department, etc etc. So BBC studios cost more than outside studios, and as producers could choose to work anywhere, they took their BBC money – which could have been spent inside on facilities owned by the BBC – and spent it elsewhere, turning it from an internal cost to real cash – effectively chucking money away. It made sense on a producer’s budget sheet though, because they spent less of it at Teddington – or wherever – than they did in the building where their office was.

The producer of Film 90-something, Bruce Thompson, and the producer of Points of View, me, Bernard Newnham, thought all this was pretty stupid, and carried on using Pres B. It was a few yards from my office, so very sensible and convenient to use.

Then things started to go wrong for the studio schedulers. They couldn’t balance their budget – the one they didn’t have before Producer Choice. Their “customers” – as they were now, rather than colleagues – were producers with cash budgets that were always being cut back. The producers made savings on their balance sheet by going outside, or turning the office into a studio. So the main studios weren’t being used, but the studio people’s overheads didn’t go away. They needed to cut back, so they – for reasons I don’t know – decided to close Pres B, and stop paying rent to Premises Operations for it. They put a padlock on the door so we couldn’t sneek in.

Studio Operations set Points of View up with alternative locations, initially in the under-used large studios. It was very strange to do PoV in TC1 – 100x100x50, built for huge operas and LE shows. We were in a tiny corner. Then one autumn they didn’t have any room, so they offered us 13 weeks at Elstree. We had a disused studio – B, I think – with our own small OB truck outside next to an OB VT truck. It was all quite fun, apart from the cost of going there each week, which was added to our budget so we could afford it. After the quarter was up, we went back to touring the big studios.

Then one day, on the way to an edit, I bumped into our studio scheduler lady in the corridor “I’ve been meaning to tell you”, she said, ”we don’t have a studio for you next week”.

“What????”

Points of View was, in those days, a BBC1 staple – 8.50 Wednesday evening every week for years . “I’m sorry but we’re unable to bring you Points of View this week, as a studio wasn’t available” . In earlier days they would have fallen on their sword rather than not give us a studio, but now we were just a rather minor customer. 9 million viewers each week meant nothing.

Enough, I thought, and joined in the game. I called OBs and asked the boss a hypothetical question. Then I called Head of Premises Operations and asked if I could rent his Pres B for a day each week.

“It belongs to Studios” he said.

“No it doesn’t, they gave it back to you – put a padlock on the door”.

“It has their gear in it”.

“Doesn’t matter, OBs will bring a truck round the back and run cables over the roof, it’ll be an OB”.

“I’ll have to think about this….”

In the meantime I needed a studio in a few days, and after various trips and discussions, went to SSVC at Chalfont.

Then, completely unannounced,  I got a memo from Studio Operations – they’d agreed with Premises Operations to only rent Pres B from them on days when they had a booking, thus paying no pretend money when they weren’t getting pretend money from us.

They removed the padlock. I had played the silly Producer Choice game and won.

So after one week at SSVC, we, and Film thing, were back in Pres B as if we’d never been away. What a wonderful thing Producer choice was.

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And……

Making a trail for a Hitchhiker radio programme on TV – where the pictures aren’t all in your head.

First go to http://www.tech-ops.co.uk/bern/h1.wmv where you will find a somewhat battered copy of the subject of this piece.

January 1980…..

I must admit that the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy passed me by when it was first on radio. Given that I spent huge amounts of time working in television and actually being at TV Centre, it isn’t too surprising.  As a promotions producer in the BBC Presentation department I worked a three weeks on and one week off shift pattern, month after month, with very long days in the building.  We really didn’t get out much, and we slept away much of the week off.

In each block of three weeks, the three members of a promotions team generally made 10-15 trails – that’s not including “next week, tomorrow, tonight” versions of the same thing – all for programmes in the “operational week”,  the third one. The most prestigious and difficult thing was regarded as the Radio Times trail.  Of course, this was really an advert, and rather against the rules, but had been made since time immemorial so had kind of grandfather rights. What you had to do was make a trail for one or more programmes, and sort of notice that they were the ones featured in this week’s Radio Times.  It was regarded as a chance to be original, and given the pressure of time, was often the only chance there was to do something that wasn’t just programme clips edited together.

Most Radio Times front covers featured a tv programme, but radio was grudgingly allocated a certain number each year.  In week 4 1980 (19-25th January)  it was their week, and they picked Hitchhiker. Series one was being stripped through the week as a intro to series two, so although series one had been on several times before, this was in effect a high profile launch.  As tv promotions producer for that week, I first took notice of the things we would have to trail around the back end of the previous promotions cycle, before the off week. I discovered that there was an LP of the first Hitchiker series and got hold of it from BBC Records. This was the first time I’d listened to the series and I quite enjoyed it, though I wouldn’t say I was a  huge fan. It has to be said that after 14 years in tv by then, and having worked on many programmes in my days as a cameraman, I could never really be a huge fan of anything made in the factory where I worked. We used to play inside Daleks in the scenery runway, whilst Dr Who fans obsessed outside the gates

What you could always do with a radio cover was chicken out and do a few tv programmes featured inside the magazine and just mention the cover story in passing.  Unless I had a workable idea I was certainly going to do exactly that. I must admit that the challenge of making a trail for a fantasy radio programme did appeal, but I needed a visual idea which I would have to think up myself.  After this long time I have no memory at all about how the idea came into my head. Actually, one thing I’ve discovered is that I can never work out where original ideas come from. They don’t happen too often, and seem to just pop into your head. In this case, before the “chicken out” deadline came along, I had that good idea.  I would show a version of the Guide, though not an actual book – at least, not one for humans.  I decided that out there somewhere in the universe aliens would have a prism as the book. I thought that if I shone different colours of light through the prism I would get appropriate rainbow effects – sort of words for aliens.  This was of course well before the age when computers would do this sort of tv effect. When the Hitchhiker tv dramatisation came along the following year they would use prosthetics, plywood and 35mm film animations, and they had a decent budget.

When the cycle of week 4 began on Monday of week 2 and ten days before the first transmission of the Radio Times trail on the Wednesday of week 3, I asked the props people to find whatever prisms they could come up with.  I wrote a script for Peter Jones and got in touch with Geoffrey Perkins, the producer.  It turned out that they were making series 2 at that moment, so it would be convenient for me to go along and have Peter record my material during their time.  From endless trail making I had an ability to mimic styles of writing of various shows, and the team, presumably including Douglas Adams, happily accepted what I had written. Mr Adams wasn’t a familiar face in those days, so I have no idea whether he was there or not. Peter recorded his piece onto quarter inch tape.

Back at TV Centre I asked our senior graphics designer to Letraset “Don’t Panic” onto the end of one of the prisms that had turned up from props. I do remember him saying “just that?”.  He obviously hadn’t heard the programme either.  Lying around in the corner of the office was a sheet of card with a shiny textured surface, also a trainee, a somewhat irritating one, to hold it up and wiggle it as required.  The promotions turntable would come in useful too.  That was it until the day in the studio, Wednesday of week 3, a few hours before transmission. I had a dozen or so other trails to make.

On the Wednesday we had the afternoon studio session scheduled to us.  It would start as always at 14.30 and run till 17.00. That was our slot, with no extensions, and we would have had a good number of other trails to make in addition to the Radio Times. The good thing was that nothing else would need much in the studio itself, apart from the odd caption or two, so I could set up with plenty of time and space.  We were working in Pres B, as our studio, Pres A next door, was being refurbished. Pres B is famous as the original Old Grey Whistle Test studio, and I as I write this the tv is running Guitar Heroes at the BBC on BBC4, with a video of The Who playing in the same small studio.   I pulled around the black cyclorama as a background and set up the prisms that I had in a group on the turntable and set it going. I have to admit that I still didn’t quite know what it was all going to look like. What I wanted was a fan of rainbow light which would vary over time, or something that would convey a similar weirdness.

It didn’t work. I had forgotten that what I really needed for the effect was sunlight, and that was one thing that wasn’t available. Also the prisms were props, and although I’m sure that the law of optical dispersion still worked, it didn’t work well with tungsten light on not-very-clear glass.

Luckily, because I had never been sure of what result I would get, I had various backups.  One was the good old Dr Who opening titles howl round. Point a camera at a monitor showing it’s own output, and you get the video equivalent  of putting a microphone in front of a louspeaker.  The camera moves around whilst you mix in a second camera with – in this case – a pile of prisms, and you get lots of piles of prisms. Spooky.  The lighting man set up drastic variations in the colours of the lights and cycled through them. The trainee waggled his shiny board in the background. Peter Jones was played back from tape. And it sort of worked.  I had a scene crew man with a smoke machine to add even more visual mystery. He filled the small studio with smoke, but hard as he tried, we couldn’t really see much of it.  Never mind – after a few takes we decided we had something weird enough for a fantasy radio programme trailed on television.

The Radio Times front page at the end of the trail was zoomed up using the Blue Peter ship technique. This was done on the end of every BP show at the time. You mount the ship picture – or RT cover – on a 20x16in caption card and put that on a stand in the studio. Then you have the cameraman zoom all the way out. This reveals much of the studio, so the card is lit brightly with a spotlight. The iris on the camera has to be closed right down, and everything except what’s on the card disappears. Crash zoom in on cue and it’s done.

And that was it. The Radio Times trail was always shown from Wednesday to Friday, maybe 6 or so transmissions, then it was gone forever.  But most of us liked to keep some of the things that we made, and at that time we saved them on Philips cassette. Eventually we moved on to VHS, and I copied my stuff across using a dying Philips machine and a sticking tape.  So the quality of my early stuff isn’t too good. The 2″ masters are of course long gone, but that’s television. At least I have a sort of reasonable copy of something ephemeral – and trails are about as ephemeral as tv gets.

…oh – when I left the studio, I ran into the BBC1 continuity announcer, a pleasant but rather, er…. precious man. It turned out that the aircon in Pres B recirculated  through the whole presentation area, so my smoky studio became everyone’s smoky working area. He said “I’m not going back in there till they put the fire out”, and wouldn’t believe it was just me. Smoke was never allowed in the area again.

Bernard Newnham
11/07/2009   –  29 years on.