History Box: Granada 25/12/61

GRANADA: 25 DEC 1961

Let’s go way, way back for this first Christmas edition of History Box. To 1961, and Christmas Day on Granada back when it covered the entire North coast-to-coast.

TV doesn’t even wake up until 11.15, a luxury denied to most families in Britain. Particularly those with small children, who’ve probably been up for five to seven hours already. To be fair, the BBC had been up since nine, albeit only with a series of carol services of little interest to children. At least they were all Protestant, though. ITV has to deal with the left-footers with a full-blown Dominican Mass from the Priory Church of St. Dominic (doy) in Kentish Town.

That lasts an hour and a quarter, which seems a bit short for a Catholic mass. Maybe they’re anticipating Vatican II. Anyway, enough Roman papist heresy, this is followed straight on by yet more Christmas church music, this time thoroughly CofE and coming from Durham Cathedral.

After that, variety from Elstree (probably, it’s an ATV production) hosted by Noele Gordon and featuring warm jazz from Jerry Allen and his TV Trio, V-neck sweatered rock ‘n’ roll from the Viscounts, and a whole bunch of people no-one remembers 64 years later.

Three quarters of an hour later, essentially more of the same, right down to being an ATV production, except this time strictly centred around Cyril Stapledon and his orchestra. They used to work for the BBC until the Corporation needed to save a bit of cash. Now they’re independent and appearing on the opposition, playing the usual featherlight accompaniments to the likes of Cleo Laine, Janie Marsden and a bunch of grammar school kids.

That comes to a screeching halt at three on the dot, of course, so we can sit around the television tugging our forelocks as the Queen delivers her annual monologue about nothing in particular. Notice that she’s only given five minutes back then, instead of the ten we’re used to now. I think the extra five minutes is mostly foofaraw with the national anthem and scenic shots of Balmoral or wherever.

Anyway back to real programmes! For a certain definition of real programmes. It’s a circus! Circuses used to be a Christmas television staple. The BBC, of course, had Billy Smart, until the early 80s when it had started to feel old hat and they passed it off to ITV. Until then, for many years they’d shown Chipperfield’s Circus in competition. Literally - both were on at the same time after the Queen. There was no escape, especially back then when there were just two channels. So this year Chipperfield’s ringmaster is the legendary Shaw Taylor, and amidst the animal cruelty and boring clowns we have Arthur Haynes - one of the biggest comedy stars in the country at the time, all but forgotten now - and Richard Hearne, better known as Mr Pastry, and almost the Fourth Doctor except that by then he was old as balls and starting to forget the difference between himself and Mr Pastry.

After an hour of that, Close-Up. Which appears to be a clip show of whatever musicals to which Associated-Rediffusion could get the rights. It does give the TV Times an excuse to print a big picture of Marilyn Monroe. (Over on the BBC at the same time: The World of Walt Disney, in which David Jacobs visits Disneyland and interviews Walt himself. Maybe ITV just gave up)

The hour between five and six (almost) is designated Cartoon Time, mostly from Hanna-Barbera with a Huckleberry Hound and a Flintstones, probably celebrating Christmas despite Christ not having been born yet as usual.

After some news (“reports are coming in that it’s Christmas Day”) we spend ten minutes with His Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury. There was a new one that year in Michael Ramsey, who appeared to be played by Ed Asner, and here he speaks to a student and a schoolgirl. With cameras in the room, so don’t worry.

At quarter past six something Granada-specific: People and Places with Bull Grundy and a pre-Late Late Gay Byrne. This was the show on which Uncle Gaybo introduced the first ever televised performance by some band called Beetles or something. This is a special Christmas edition which could include an extended interview with Jacques Derrida for all I know because the TV Times doesn’t give any details.

At seven, All Our Yesterdays - fronted as usual by stern-faced Brian Inglis - presents some nostalgia for a period almost three times as far away then as its original broadcast is now: Christmas 1936, the year Hermann Goering was Santa Claus. Now there’s a subject for a Rankin-Bass special. A relatively early work for Jeremy Isaacs.

At seven-thirty, Coronation Street makes it to Christmas Day for the very first time! It missed out the previous year because it was on a Wednesday-Friday schedule at that time, and Christmas was on a Sunday, but in 1961 it moved to Monday-Wednesday and wouldn’t you know it, that covers the 25th! So here it is! This was before the days when we really understood the genre of soap opera, of course, so there’s no apparent obligation to have a massive apocalyptic story start or finish in this episode. Instead it’s just about how the characters spend their Christmas and even enjoy it, for the most part. Imagine that.

If it’s exciting drama you’re after, you could try Bonanza, on afterwards. It’s still in the Pernell Roberts era, even. It’s not particularly Christmassy or anything - some miners lie about a silver strike and Lorne Greene almost gets lynched for calling them on it - but on the one and only other side is The Black And White Minstrel Show, so you make your choice.

After a bit more news, yet more variety with The Max Bygraves, the man who, if he didn’t invent the milking of the giant cow, certainly perfected it. Alongside him are the Two Tones, seen with Max

looming menacingly behind in the accompanying picture, trad jazz kingpin Kenny Ball, and Max’s kid Anthony.

And the day ends with a film. Obviously we’re a ways early for The Big Christmas Film to be a thing yet, but this would be a good choice for that slot when it does exist. It’s a lavish Dickens adaptation, after all. The Pickwick Papers is one of his fluffier works, being basically an anthology of connected short stories (most of his books were originally serials, but this one really leans into it), but there’s nothing wrong with that. Amazingly, this is still the only theatrical sound film that’s ever been made of it, and not even in colour. Someone needs to get on that.

Oddly, despite the film running to just short of two hours, here it seems to be over after just over one. The episodic nature of the story does lend itself to editing, but that still seems pretty drastic. I suppose we don’t want to get too close to midnight, even on Christmas Day.

Images used for the purposes of review and education only. No attempt at superceding or cricumventing existing copyright has been made or should be inferred.