The role of the TOM (originally) / TM2
Dave Newbitt
When I joined in 1962 the TOM did, of course, occupy the senior role as part of the camera crew. Thus matters of crew discipline, applications for leave etc. were through him until later re-jigging when as TM IIs they were on free allocation and Senior Cameramen assumed the role of father figure. My first TOM (crew 8) was Frank Cresswell – an absolute gentleman of the old school who discharged his duties impeccably and had the measure of any gallery production staff who were too pushy. Any yea or nay from VT following recorded programmes was to the TOM who advised production and crew members accordingly.
Paul Thackray
By the 1980s the Resource Manager (TM2) was often operating the VT Recording machines remotely and checking the recordings. By the 1090s, pricing, sales and booking was added to the job plus the few parts of Scenic Projection that were not hired in.
Inlay and overlay
Geoff Fletcher
I wrote this article about Riverside studios way back in August 2012. About half of it relates to my stint on Inlay duties, so I hope it will be of interest.
Working at the BBC’s Riverside Studios
See also Tales of the Riverside
On Boat Race Day, those of us crewed out had a grandstand view of the passing cavalcade from the rear of the premises. I remember one occasion when we were pelted with mud by some yobbos standing on the foreshore. We had the last laugh, however, as they were apparently unaware of the rolling tsunami following the armada of launches trailing the two eights. We watched it come with amused interest, and were less than sympathetic when they suddenly found themselves up to their waists in water. I recall that BBC OBs also used one of the Riverside cameras on the flat roof of as part of the coverage.
Another memorable occasion on the terrace was when I witnessed two coxes on the opposite bank of the Thames, riding along on their bikes and bawling at their respective eights through their megaphones, collide with each other and then proceed to have a severe physical falling out. The eights rested on their oars, urging the assailants on to greater efforts, and highly amused by the whole thing.
Riverside also had a couple of bad points, however. One was the ventilation or lack of it, and the other was the Inlay machines in the galleries. The ventilation problem can be illustrated by the following extract from my 1969 diary covering a day working on Z Cars, and it also gives the flavour of those happy times.
“Today was very hot at Riverside. No ventilation in R1, and it later became apparent that no Ventilation Man is on duty on Wednesdays as an economy measure! Lunch at pub as usual, with Mark, Pete, and Terry. Very nice day outside by the river. When we got back to the studios, I thought I’d left my jacket at the pub and had a fruitless chase back there again. Returned to R1 to find it was on the set all the time. I ran all the way in both directions and was completely tatered when I got back – thereby causing much mirth for the rest of the lads! Some of our GGH claims were in, but red tape struck again as the office wallahs wanted some re-done on separate forms. After the show – a booze up at R3. I must have had at least 6 pints. Drove home after a long, long, chat with Roger Williemeys. I must watch this beer bit – I’m getting to be a regular boozy old bxxxxxd! Production Secretary was very OK today. All of us fancied her!”
As for the Inlay machines, a bit of background explanation might be useful. Back in the 1960s, would-be cameramen had to do three months on Inlay. This consisted of six weeks training and six or seven weeks on the job proper, as I recall. The latter period was considered slightly lucrative as you were paid Grade C- for its duration. Mostly the job entailed sitting at the back of the production gallery behind your inlay desk, waiting to put black or white edges around end credits and/or captions, with occasional forays into proper wipes between shots on Music or other LE programmes.
The ultimate challenge was working on “Top Of The Pops”. This involved sitting at the end of the production desk in Lime Grove Studio G using a Fernseh machine utilising the switching buttons for the TM’s desk monitor to change cameras, while operating the dreaded Baldwin multiple wipes machine with your second pair of hands. A delightful feature of this box of tricks was a switch conveniently placed on the back of the control box to have the wipes rolling or not, as required by the Director. The end sequence was the worst. You had to wipe to/from a different camera with each transition, and use a different wipe each time as well, while switching between Baldwin and Fernseh, rolling and static, all in time to the music. Dick Pigg – the renowned wit and vision mixer – would sit back with an “Over to you Inlay” and then watch with an evil grin as instant sweat broke out of your every pore, your eyes came out on stalks, your hands flapped over the two machines like a pair of demented bats with your fingers wildly stabbing at buttons and switches, while at the same time at random intervals you had to reach blindly behind the Baldwin to activate or deactivate the rolling option. The camera selection buttons sometimes caused blips on transmission as they weren’t really up to the job, which also added to the fun. It seemed to go on for ever, until finally it was over, and you collapsed in an exhausted heap! Medicinal beer was provided later in Lime Grove Club.
We used to go to stores first thing on duty days and collect an attaché case full of standard mechanical wipes – diagonals and iris and so on. The Fernseh was a more high-tech gizmo with the wipes on domino-like chips, which came in a box not unlike Cadbury’s Milk Tray. The wipes were indicated by a little diagram on the tops of the dominoes and you presented the open choc box to the Director and let him choose his wipes for the day. There was also a fair amount of competition to dream up new mechanical wipes. Somebody invented the corn flake wipe, which consisted of emptying a box of cornflakes over the glass switching plate of the machines in the TC galleries, and then blowing the flakes away, thus creating a switching signal of interesting effect. This led to the rice crispy wipe, the rice wipe, the tea leaf wipe, the rock salt wipe, the sequin wipe, and so on. Eventually it all got a bit out of hand, and an edict from on high put a stop to it.
But to return to Riverside’s bad point. The Inlay machines at Riverside were the very worst – they were ancient, and still had rotary controls. You would spend ages setting the clipping level for the mechanical wipes and then rehearse the move successfully all day, only to find that on the recording, the level would have wandered and as soon as the edge of the wipe interrupted the output of the first camera, the whole thing would bleed erratically and usually far too rapidly through to the next camera, Great was the wrath that descended upon your blameless shoulders as a result. The Vision Engineers seemed to regard these little electronic beasts with some affection and were generally unsympathetic to complaints about them – “Operator error!” was their mantra. Sometimes I was sorely tempted to take a hammer to the damn things and be done with it!
To some extent you could choose when to do your stint on Inlay. I did mine in Summer – from the last week in June to mid-September 1966 – as I had access to everything on the ring main on my switching selection buttons, and I was able to watch a lot of Test Match cricket for two days on such epics as “The Forsyte Saga” whilst waiting to enhance the edges around the lettering on the end captions. The other delight on that particular drama was switching from camera to camera to follow the stunningly beautiful Nyree Dawn Porter around the studio – there was always at least one camera pointing at her – on or off set.
Vision Mixing
Alec Bray
In 1963 the Vision Mixers s were part of Tech Ops, then got moved to Studio Management.
Paul Thakray
This went full circle. VMs having moved to Studio Management, were then moved back as part of the equivalent of Tech Ops in the early 1990s (next move was for them to all go freelance in the 2000s along with FMs, AFMs etc).
The role of Racks (who were TAs)
Alan Taylor
Racks in OBs
The T.A. was a Technical Assistant. Essentially it was the entry point for trainee engineers. I can’t speak for studios, but on OBs, the TA assisted the engineers and would do a certain amount of the engineering tasks under supervision once they were deemed to be sufficiently competent.
Official duties involved things like rigging monitors and setting up the caption scanner, which was a metal box on wheels, about a metre cube, containing a B&W camera, lighting and the means to handle 9”x12” caption cards in metal holders. A caption could be withdrawn by sliding upwards while in shot and the next caption would neatly spring into place.
In the early days of colour television, monitors needed to be aligned every day, PAL coders needed careful adjustment and of course the cameras needed frequent registration and colour balancing. Strictly speaking these were tasks for engineers, but in reality, TAs were keen to learn how to do it and were often encouraged to try. They would also act as meal reliefs, operating racks on some of the cameras during long shows.
Racks is the name by which vision engineers are known. They were responsible for setting up, repairing and adjusting all the vision equipment. The early days of colour relied on some rather temperamental equipment which needed frequent tweaking in order to produce satisfactory pictures. They got their name from ‘racking’ the cameras. They would sit at a rack of equipment, continually optimising the iris and black level controls for two cameras each (comparable in effect to contrast and brightness controls), along with any number of other adjustments needed from time to time. They judged the picture quality by using a monitor and a waveform monitor. On OBs, racks engineers spent six months on the road, followed by six months in base working in the maintenance rooms, repairing and servicing the cameras, monitors and sound equipment.
Coiling cables, camera cable figure of eight
Doug Puddifoot
Nearly fifty years and I’m still doing it
Geoff Fletcher
Me too…
Mike Jordan
A few years ago I was helping our local school with their drama show – including sound and a bit of lighting.
At derig, one of the boys was trying to sort out a 200ft or so length of mic cable wrapping it over his arm like mum with washing line.
I just laid it out across the hall and did a simple coil (not actually figure 8), twisting as I went and he was absolutely amazed. He then tried and was successful – made his day.
Just comes naturally doesn’t it. Much easier with a hose or even a multi compared with G101 or similar!
Dave Beer
Yes, it still comes in useful for larger cables, but I refer you to my post some years ago which explains the Roadie Wrap for smaller cables. Take a look at https://youtu.be/kda4DPAn3C4 which explains the technique.
Just remember, “Overworked and Underpaid!”
