More from Roger Bunce

The First Time I Tracked a Mole Crane

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.

Accident Report Forms

Have you noticed the way that, after you’ve read a few, all Accident Report Forms start to sound like Gerard Hoffnung’s “Barrel” story? The following is the actual wording of a Hazardous Incident Report submitted by me after an episode of “Pets Win Prizes”, on 7th June 1995. The literary style may be frivolous, but the factual details are all perfectly true. “During a recording of “Pets Win Prizes”, I was operating a hand-held, underwater camera in a tank full of ravenous, flesh-eating Moray Eels: in order to obtain detailed close-up shots of bone-crushing jaws lined with razor-sharp teeth. Everything perfectly safe so far, then. The first eel posed dramatically, menacing the lens with a set of dentistry which would have made a barracuda jealous. I moved on to the second specimen: a long, mean, leopard spotted killing machine, by the name of – “Fang”. So, still no obvious safety hazard. “As long as you keep your fingers out of the water,” I was advised, “he won’t be able to smell you and won’t try to eat you.” Unfortunately, this simple principle had not been explained to Fang, who attacked immediately. My wide-angle BCU of vicious, predatory jaws developed into a rapid track-back and crane-up, without those jaws becoming noticeably smaller in frame – nor any less predatory. Most Cameramen would have given their right arm to take such a spectacular close-up. But I moved faster than most Cameramen. Nor did Fang understand that he was supposed to stop where the water finished. Rows of needle sharp teeth erupted through the surface, followed by ravening jaws – and head – and body – – and tail! A full three feet of writhing, snapping carnivore was suddenly airborne. I suspect that Fang had recently seen the film “Piranha II: The Flying Killers” and felt inspired. Amid a shower of spray, it hurtled out of its tank, narrowly missed the Common Edible Cameraman, and landed with a wet slap on the studio floor. This was followed by much slimy thrashing and a round of applause from the studio audience. The intrepid aviator was netted and safely returned to his tank. It is to be hoped that he has now learned the essential difference between a fish and a bird. But the incident could have been dangerous because he had made the floor paint wet and someone might have slipped.”

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From Dicky Howett

SOUTHEND-ON-TV

Television in the 1950s was all-live. And being all-live it had to have regular doses of action and adventure. Outside broadcasts provided some ready-made thrills and, in those years, a favourite thrilling venue for both BBC and ITV was Southend-on-Sea. Never a year seemed to go by without Southend Pier or its carnival being featured on Saturday afternoon telly, interspersed between the usual diet of wrestling, showjumping and boat racing. In 1950, the BBC had Richard Dimbleby demonstrating a sea rescue off the end of Southend Pier. The nation held its breath as a weighty Dimbleby was seen suspended in a bosun's chair, dangling over a windswept sea. Then, on cue, he was hauled from a yacht to the waiting lifeboat, thus providing instant thrills - would the bosun's chair break-would he fall into the water? -as well as the double bonus of a few hours of extremely cheap television. On the basis that any old excuse would do (from a bank holiday to a coronation), the TV companies would rush instantly, van loads of cameras and miles of cable to any likely festive vantage point. But not too far from London. Nation-wide television was still a few years away and ITV was several companies short of a network. The actual subject matter seemed not to matter. Everything was new and it was all grist to the TV mill. Indeed, for years, a Southend seafront gypsy fortune-teller had a sign displayed which read proudly: 'As featured on BBC television". Doubtless the clientele were suitably impressed as they crossed palms with silver. But Southend carnival provided the ultimate black and white TV attraction. In 1956, ATV transmitted the festivities, setting up their cameras and control vans beside the old swimming pool at Westcliff. Included in the day's programme was a beauty contest (typical ITV) from the pool. Later in the afternoon, a proportion of the carnival procession was televised. Two Pye Mk 3 cameras were used, one mounted on a ‘Paddock’ dolly beside the road and the other, on a gantry using a Watson 5:1 zoom lens. What all these Southend programmes actually looked like, I have only fragmentary recollections. Even in those days, our little 9 inch made-in- Southend Ekco television set was working overtime! I seem to recall that these outside broadcasts were fraught with technical and artistic problems. Cameras would focus on the wrong item or break down at critical moments. Commentators would lose their sound-leads or microphones. Interviewees would freeze-up in panic and forget their own names. Strange and inexplicable pauses proliferated. Everything over-ran. And it always seemed to be raining. No recordings exist of those 1950s Southend outside broadcasts. They were not exactly historic, nor considered at the time worthy of any sort of archive preservation. But, oh to be able to see them now! My memories of the 1956 Southend carnival are reinforced by the photo-graphs my father and I took of the ATV technical gear. But I shall always recall, fondly, the remark made to me by an ATV cameraman who was photographing the carnival. As a camera-mad 11-year-old, I confessed to him that I wanted to be a TV cameraman when I grew up. "B-— off, can't you see I’m working?" he muttered helpfully

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From Dave Lawson

As a result of my failing memory I am unable to recall the senior cameraman or crew but this event sticks in my memory. The show was "The Jimmy Savile Show", or something like it, a precursor of "Jim'll fix It", recorded as live in the TV Theatre. It was a general children's entertainment show with chat, pop groups and the finale was a quiz with contestants from the audience. On stage was a mole crane and two peds with a forth camera in the well on a Motorised Vinten. I was operating the ped on the stage camera right of the set, the same side as a section of the audience on stage sitting on bean bags. The end sequence involved Jim crossing downstage from the quiz set upstage of the proscenium arch to the interview set to close the show. The design of the set failed to allow for a mole crane and two peds passing through the proscenium arch between the interview set and the stage audience at the same time so the rehearsal of the first show ground to a halt at this point and no one seemed to have any idea round the problem. After establishing that the programme budget allowed for editing, an expensive option in those days, I suggested a solution. Get Jim to acknowledge the applause from the quiz set in a close shot but not to move. On the directors cue the mole tracks back letting the peds reposition downstage then the mole tracks in offering a wider shot of Jim to bring him downstage to close the show. Great idea and it worked for five of the six shows. On the last show Jim forgot to wait for his cue and started downstage too soon. Like the professional we were, we all went for it and it very nearly succeeded until a member of the stage audience stood up and stopped me in my tracks, before I fell over a baby hippopotamus. No I did not dream it and I was sober!!