Situation Tragedy

make mistakes. Having started niggling at Dick, he couldn’t leave the subject alone. ‘Actually, it was on The Strutters’ pilot you lost it, wasn’t it? Lost it for the bloody Dress Run. My, you were a useful Floor Manager, weren’t you?’

The other trainees laughed obediently. Dick spoke angrily. ‘Look, I found it straight after. Right at the beginning of Line-up.’

Robin Laughton continued his mockery. ‘He’d left it switched on, needless to say. Relaying anything it picked up into Production Control. Lucky the batteries weren’t completely flat.’

‘Where had you left it?’ asked Charles, suddenly interested.

‘In the Quick Change Room.’

‘And you found it just after six?’

‘Yes.’

‘And was there anyone in the Quick Change Room?’

Dick was relieved at the change of interrogator and replied readily. ‘Yes. Sadie Wainwright was in there, being her usual bad-tempered self.’

‘Bad-tempered to you or to someone else?’

‘Both. She appeared to be in the middle of an argument when I went in. and then bit my head off.’

‘Who was in there with her?’

‘Aurelia Howarth.’

CHAPTER NINE

Rod Tisdale’s final message to the world, the sixth (or, if you count the pilot, seventh) episode of The Strutters was on a theme he had used before. In What’ll the Neighbours Say? much of the comedy had derived from the conflict between the wildly bohemian (if slightly overmature) Bernard Walton character and his more conventional neighbours, the Strutters. In The Strutters, the reactionary disapproval of the Colonel and his wife was moved to the centre of the action, and directed at everything in general and at their son in particular. This character, played by Nick Coxhill, became increasingly indistinguishable from the Bernard Walton character in What’ll the Neighbours Say? He it was now who turned up in episodes with black girlfriends or wearing kaftans (sit cams must be the only places in the world where kaftans are still worn as a symbol of Bohemianism) or playing music too loud. (In the original script for this last plot, Rod Tisdale had gone daringly modern and had the character smoking pot, but West End Television, feeling this was a bit strong, had changed it to playing music too loud, which, as they said, ‘made the same point’.)

Having reasserted the basic polarities of his traditional script, Rod Tisdale seemed determined to adapt all his old plots for the new series. But for the unfunny intervention of death, there was little doubt that all of the What’ll the Neighbours Say? storylines would, in time, have reappeared in the guise of episodes of The Strutters. However, it was not to be, and with the appointment of Willy and Sam Tennison, who knew what direction the series would take? (Actually, one could have a pretty good guess. It was only a matter of time before the Nick Coxhill character was supplied with a dizzy wife to exchange darlings with, and Colonel and Mrs Strutter were moved back into subsidiary roles.)

All this preamble is necessary to explain the reason for the night filming that was so disturbing the rehearsal schedule of The Strutters. In Episode Six (or, if you count the pilot, Seven) the plot, simplified (bit not much) was as follows:

Colonel Strutter and his son argue violently about politics. The Colonel is a true-blue Conservative (jokes about being blue in the face too) and the Nick Coxhill character is a follower of Marx (sequence of jokes about Groucho, Harpo and Chico, which are compulsory in all sit corns which mention Marx). The son, in a kaftan, then meets a friend, also in a kaftan, who has just started a new political party, the Conservation (jokes about recycled paper and brown rice) and Union (brassiere jokes about ‘One out, all out’) Party. Friend suggests son should bridge the gap between the generations and invite his father to come and speak at the inaugural meeting of the new party. Son rings mother, who takes message and, daffily, mishears ‘Conservation and Union Party’ as ‘Conservative and Unionist Party’. End of Part One. Commercial Break.

Part Two opens with Colonel and Mrs Strutter (on film) in the street, looking for the venue of the meeting and being amazed by the Bohemianism of the people they see going in. (All the extras involved wear kaftans to demonstrate their Bohemianism and have long hair and beards, thus adding considerably to the make-up bill for the episode.) The rest of Part Two is a studio sequence of the actual meeting in which misunderstandings abound, and everyone gets the wrong end of every available stick with, as in all good sit coms, ‘hilarious consequences’.

The above plot had appeared in a very early episode of What’ll the Neighbours Say? in which Bernard Walton formed a new political party called ‘The Brigade of Hard Red Unions’, which his father (a character who didn’t get on with Bernard and was quickly dropped from the series) misheard as ‘The Brigade of Guards Reunion’. With, once again, ‘hilarious consequences’.

The only difference between the two was that in The Strutters episode, all the other regular characters went along to the meeting to witness the Colonel’s discomfiture. Which meant that Reg the golf club barman once again displayed his trousers, and Charles Paris had to turn up to West End Television for a nine p.m. make-up call, before being taken by coach to the condemned road in Clapham which the Location Manager had selected for the night’s filming.

All the impedimenta of filming lay ready when the coach arrived. The crew had been booked for the full night and so were guaranteed ‘Golden Time’ (the best rate of overtime), regardless of when they finished. As a result the men in lumberjack checked shirts hadn’t told them to slow down and they had been very efficient.

It was still a warm summer evening and not quite dark. But a fierce glow brighter than daylight came from the terrace of houses which was to be used as the location. Huge lights on tall metal stands were trained on them ready for filming. Cables ran from these to a variety of vans and lorries. Make-up caravans and mobile dressing rooms spread down the street. The double-decker bulk of the location caterers’ bus loomed to one side. Extras in beards and kaftans sat around, plotting as ever how to get personally ‘directed’ by the director, thus raising their status (and fee) to that of ‘walk-on’. There could be no doubt that a film crew was around.

So was a large crowd of gawpers. This was inevitable. The paraphernalia always attract an audience, and the clemency of the weather increased their numbers. Many had been standing outside local pubs and followed the film transport with interest. It was not an area where a great deal happened.

There was some raucous shouting from the crowd, but they seemed fairly good-humoured. Robin Laughton, the Floor Manager, walking round with his walkie-talkie, was of the opinion that they would soon disperse once the novelty had worn off and it got later.

The Location Manager, looking a little anxious, said he hoped that was the case. ‘There seem to be a lot more people round here than I expected. I thought all the houses were empty. Most of them are boarded up.’

‘Squatters, I should think,’ said Robin Laughton. ‘What time of day did you do your recce?’

‘Afternoon. Hardly anyone around then. Just the old couple who live in that house right in the middle. I fixed a fee with them all right.’

‘If you get trouble, maybe you’ll have to pay some of this lot off.’

The Location Manager nodded uncertainly. It was part of his job to carry round pockets full of flyers to buy off anyone who objected to the filming. ‘There are a lot of them, though.’

‘They’ll soon clear off once they see how boring it is. Don’t you worry, my son.’

‘Is Bob ready to start filming?’

Robin Laughton shook his head. ‘Dob’s not here yet.’

‘Wasn’t she coming in the coach?’

‘No, special dispensation, she was to come and get made up here.’

‘What, that old looney coming here in the Bentley? He’s probably driven her to the wrong place.’

‘No, no, we’ve sent a hire car for her. Old Barton’ll be safely tucked up in bed by now.’

George Birkitt, standing by Charles, had overheard the end of this conversation. ‘Oh no, it’s the bloody limit!’