Broadcast: Monday, 7th March 1994

Character: Langdale Pike

 “I withstand the blasts of time, can’t you see?” Langdale Pike

The Story

“I don’t think that any of my adventures with Sherlock Holmes started quite so abruptly, or so dramatically, as that which I associate with the Three Gables”. Thus began the story upon which this feature of Granada Televisions The memoirs of Sherlock Holmes is based.

The televised episode, however, has certain deviations and difference from the original story – all to the benefit of the viewers and, I suspect, to accommodate the medium in which it’s presented.

Some changes concern additional scenes or the creation of details and a general rearranging of the unfolding of the mystery, as any adaptation is bound to have, but one particular change, that demands special mention here, is the expansion of the character of Langdale Pike from minor background role to, well… more prevalent background role. Why mentionable, I hear you ask, as if you didn’t know? Because the character is of course played by Peter Wyngarde who, I might add, is woefully underused.

Langdale Pike – gossip columnist and encyclopeadia of information concerning the comings and goings; the intertwined relationships, and secrets of London’s elite.

Perfect for Peter? Yes, indeed! The character is described by Watson as a “Strange, languid creature, as well as a transmitter for all the gossip of the metropolis”. And Holmes, naturally, helped Langdale to knowledge on occasions. In the original story, Langdale is only briefly referred to, with Watson describing him when Holmes pays him a visit in order to gather information, and to help shed light on the baffling and dangerous case. But in the televised version, the character is expanded, so that we’re able to see him in the flesh. A treat indeed!

‘The Three Gables’ provided a rich hour of fine drama during a season of none-descript situation comedies, bland American imports and endless reruns of old, over worn films. If any kind of criticism is to be made of this production, I’d say that the camera indulged slightly once too than necessary on reflections and double-exposures, and that Jeremy Brett’s Holmes is a little TOO dramatic and flouncy (but convincing and always watchable). That’s all, since the series was a veritable gem for Granada.

We first meet Langdale in the opening scene where a ball is taking place. Society lady, Isadora Klien is suitably impressed by the Duke of Lomond, who is wearing the head of a bull and Douglas Mayberry as a matador, acting out a bull fight for entertainment. Watching all this drama, Langdale sits on a golden throne and reflects with his pocket watch held before him.

He expertly notices that the affections and interest of Isadora abruptly moves away from Douglas towards the Duke. Landale Pike depends upon such social engagements to glean the majority of the tittle-tattle constituting his newspaper column.

Douglas Maybury is cast aside, he brutally beaten and left to die under the instruction of his former love, and so he sets himself a task. He will write the story of his life and affair with Isadora Klien, and will ruin her as she has ruined him. When inevitably Douglas succumbs to the injuries inflicted by Isadora’s henchmen, the script is complete. Realising that her whole social existence would crumble beneath the scandal should the manuscript ever become public, she sets about finding it. However, when has it stolen and brought to her, she discovers that the final page is missing. The author’s revelations and the evidence of murder are both contained on that page.

Later, Holmes visits Langdale to have him identify the picture of a woman that had been found in Douglas Mayberry’s locket. Langdale first plays a game with Holmes – asking him what he makes of a lady he points out in the park. Holmes assesses her without ever really looking in her direction; using his imaginative skills to make a precise deduction.

Pleased with his opinion, Langdale finally reveals who the lady is and where she comes from, for Langdale knew all along but was testing Holmes.

The two gentlemen are equals, as Holmes comments: “Under that veneer, he is totally isolated, like me” – suggesting a common bond between them, and partly the reason for their relationship. At the mere mention of Douglas Mayberry, Pike comments: “Poor boy, and what a waste”, demonstrating that he not only knows the intricacies of his affair with Isadora, but that there’s more to him than merely gossip. He chooses what constitutes his column and refers to himself as “The good angel”, as he prefers not to ruin any Society figure with a scandal. And indeed in that particular era of British history, what is true doesn’t hold much weight as that which APPEARS to be true. Appearances matter. Gossip reigns, and Langdale is king.

Holmes mentions that Douglas was involved with a rich, well-placed lady and enquires if she’s known to him. Langdale displays a smug smile; he definitely knows something, but is he going to tell? Writing the name on a slip of paper he folds it, and offers it to his old friend, but then as suddenly withdraws it: “Tittle for tattle?” he exclaims. Langdale likes to play games. Holmes is not amused by this condition, and attempts to take the slip from Pike’s hand. Pike promises to retain the paper until the favour is met.

It is this scene that really puts the character on the map – introducing Langdale; showing a little of what he’s capable of and, indeed, how he works. Much more than merely a gossip, Langdale appears to sincerely care for the Society by which he earns his keep.

During a lavish garden party and masquerade ball hosted by the Duke of Lomond’s family, Holmes again consults Langdale who, needless to say, was invited. He greets Holmes with:

“You owe me a favour, dear boy. Remember?”

They discuss the current investigation, and as Isadora’s name is mentioned, a sudden change comes over Langdale; his mood blackens and his propensity for fun wilts.

“She’s deadly!“ he confides.

Holmes is beginning to put the pieces together. Langdale reveals that the Duke of Lomond’s mother is dead-set against Isadora’s forthcoming marriage to her son; that she recognises what the woman is, even if her love-struck son does not. When later Holmes meets with her, she urges him to break the scandal, but he has other plans.

Isadora Klien is confronted by Holmes, who reveals that he knows she’s responsible for the beating Douglas suffered that resulted in his death. The fact that he’d died from pneumonia caused by a ruptured spleen is not, in itself, enough to convict her. Holmes couples this with the knowledge that Isadora is not as noble as she at first appears and is, in truth, the daughter of gypsies. To her, the revelation of this truth poses more of a threat than the hangman’s rope ever could. She agrees, reluctantly, to call off the wedding to the Duke of Lomond and is thus saved from scandal.

At the end of the tale – when Holmes finally solves the mystery and is revealing the numerous twists and turns to Watson, he spots Langdale and raises his cane to him in acknowledgement. Langdale, in turn, proffers the slip of paper expectantly, then comes to realise that Holmes is not going to reciprocate; Sherlock Holmes cannot be played so easily.

Langdale tears the slip of paper into confetti and scatters the pieces into the air. There is a final glimpse of him is of him lifting his monocle to his eye. Watching.

 

In Retrospect

Peter Wyngarde plays Langdale Pike so well it seems, as with Jason king, as if the part was written for him. “I supress much more than I expose,” Pike reveals, and how true. Peter underplays Pike, toning down gestures which Brett would certainly have overstated. His manner and tone are made for this costume Drama; his gravelly voice and refined gestures ARE Langdale Pike.

“I withstand the blasts of time,” Langdale cries after Holmes. “Can’t you see?”

 Written by Ian Smith

Character Building

Below is a pen and ink sketch drawn by Peter to illustrate his idea for the costume he would wear in the Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes episode, The Three Gables. As you can see, he’s written detailed instructions about every part of the jacket. In case you can’t read his handwriting (From top – clockwise):

“Peter Wyngarde played Langdale Pike – a Victorian Nigel Dempster in ‘The Three Gables’, which opened the 1994 season of The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes.  As always, Peter was distinguished by his rapier wit and style. A memorable performance” June Wyndam-Davis – Producer: The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes

On Monday, 22nd November, 1993, the National Film Theatre in London showed a preview of The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes episode, ‘The Three Gables’ (it was broadcast for the first time on British television four months later, on March 7th, 1994). Peter was a special guest at the event.

The following letter was written by Brenda Peck (Howes and Prior Theatrical Agency) to Carolyn Bartlett, Casting Director at Granada Television:

Dear Carolyn, How are you? Well, I hope. Although I’m trying this on agency stationary, it’s really just a personal note to thank you for casting the delicious Peter Wyngarde in ‘The Three Gables’ episode of the new Sherlock Holmes series, which was previewed at the NFT on Monday evening, and which, of course, I went along to see: going along there last evening, too, to catch the Illustrious Client episode in the 60’s television starring Douglas Wilmer. I’ve been a great admirer of his work since, I suppose, the 50’s: certainly long before he was Jason King – when he was beautiful Sydney Carton in those splendid BBC classic serials we used to have on Sunday teatimes and what a joy he was in ‘Duel of Angels’ with Vivien Leigh in the West End all those years ago. It’s a great shame we don’t see more of him these days – as someone in the audience on Monday evening and last night on leaving the NFT was saying how marvelous he was and I don’t think they seemed to know him previously – so I’d appreciate your considering him in future for anything else you might be working on. Of course, there’s no need to acknowledge this but thank you for reading it. Best Wishes, Yours Sincerely, Brenda (Peck).

Fans Comments

Tania Donald: Pike, as played so beautifully by Peter, is certainly a most memorable character in the series. One could almost imagine Langdale Pike getting his own spin-off series: he’s so intriguing.

Patrick Nash: Very interesting piece. I do feel he was underused in this episode (as guess everyone on here will agree), but still a good performance in a popular show. Is it possible for PW to give an insight to these blogs? For example was it his intention to underplay the part, or was that how he was asked to play it. How did he find working with Jeremy Brett as he was (if I recall correctly) already looking quite unwell by this point. Just a thought.

Broadcast: Saturday, February 20th, 1965

Character: Baron Adelbert von Gruner

“I should say there is no more dangerous man in Europe”.

The Story

‘The Illustrious Client’ is part of the BBC’s Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s series, which was originally broadcast in 1963. Not counting the pilot (‘The Speckled band’) it shows all the hallmarks of ageing television productions; grainy film, simplistic camera staging, over-the-top acting and a rather rushed plot. Nevertheless, for all of that, it does have its own style, finer moments and some competent performances. Indeed, I found that I rather enjoyed the episode since I’m a sucker for a good villain!

Picture it: Victorian England at the end of the Nineteenth century. London backstreets; swirling mists… not caused by oppressive weather, but rather some water thrown on hot coals. Let me explain…

Right: Peter as Von Gruner with Jennie Linden as Violet de Merville

You see, Holmes and Watson are having a sauna. Now before you get your tablets out and start composing an email in complete disgust, I can assure you that their intentions are completely honourable. After all, this is the 1890’s filmed in the 1960’s, so we’re not quite at The Tudors era of production where anything goes, and goes at it all of the time! This is entirely civilized and above board. Right then, Holmes and Watson and some other chaps are enjoying their sauna when news reaches them that their services are required in a matter of some delicacy (are they always?!) Cut to 221b Baker Street.

It appears that Violet, the daughter of General de Merville, has become entangled with a certain Baron Adelbert von Gruner; a devious man and ‘one to whom violence is familiar, who will stick at nothing to gain his ends’. Sir James – the General’s aide, also adds: “I should say there is no more dangerous man in Europe”. The Baron’s intentions are, of course, not as honorable as he would have Violet believe. It’s said that’s just murdered a former wife and several others, which is all idle speculation, naturally, but the honour and life of poor young Violet must be saved at all costs. Does Violet not know of his deeds? I hear you cry. Well, as a matter of fact she does, but she’s heard an alternative and entirely fictional version from the Baron himself, and being hopelessly in love with him, that’s all she needs. The game is afoot!

In a club of ill repute, Holmes and Watson consult Shinwell Johnson – a crook who happens to have his ear to the ground. He agrees to put the word out for something to pin on the Baron – specifically something connected to his numerous female companions. This is a poorly-produced scene with blaring music in the background which makes it difficult to hear what’s being said. The singer, a Cockney girl, is dressed in something that wouldn’t look out of place on a Madonna tour (Jean Paul Gaultier has a lot to answer for!). For me, she seems to spend too much time on getting her London-in-the-1990’s accent right to be bothered with making the lyrics understandable. And I’m sure the lines were outrageously funny, but we’ll never know. However, Shinwell’s dark murmurings of the Baron set the scene.

Note: Von Gruner is the male equivalent of Basic Instinct’s Catherine Trammell (minus the lesbianism, of course!): a man who toys with women; was suspected of murder but deftly evaded capture, and is rich. We should be on our guard.

At last we have our first taste of Baron von Gruner and Violet de Merville. He is everything we suspected: intellectual, focuses, predatory, manipulative, and murderous. She is everything we feared: blinded by love, dominated, and more than a little bit stupid (I’ll forgive her for these later. Well, I’m allowed to change my mind, aren’t I?) The Baron is obviously not desirous of Violet, and makes a heart-felt attempt to strangle the poor girl for attempting to enter his secret study then, just as suddenly, loses interest. Despite this, Violet wants him to tell her that he loves her. All he can manage is: “I want you more than anything else in the world”, which is all Violet is going to get. Oh well, he is the star of the piece after all and can’t be seen to be too available, can he?

So why is the Baron so protective of his study? Why doesn’t Violet run to the nearest copper and cry ‘attempted murder’? Why is the Baron wearing the very same boots that Sir John Cleverly Cartney wore in The Avengers? All this and more in the next episode of Soap…

Sorry – I got a bit carried away there. Anyway, the scene is now prepared for Holmes to lock horns with our very own bad boy, and we’re not disappointed. He arrives at the Baron’s home and the pair size each other up while the camera wiggles to and fro to get a better angle. The Baron warns his foe to “draw off at once” and promises the Detective a damn good thrashing if he continues to meddle in his affairs. This is also the scene when we realise why his fiancé is being so daft – Post Hypnotic Suggestion! So the Baron is the David Blaine of Victorian England. It could be worse, but not for violet. But, still, I forgive her (I said I would, didn’t |I?). The Baron projects a confident exterior but we can tell that he’s at least respectful of Holmes’ investigative flair, if not threatened by it. He should be, though, since this is Holmes show after all and the ‘Baddie’ is bound to be defeated. I was a little concerned about the “au revoir” exit Homes makes. It’s not really as tough as a “just you wait!” or a “I’ll get you yet!”, is it? But on we go…

And it’s time for the introduction of the other good character piece of the episode: Miss Kitty Winter, played by Rosemary Leach. Kitty is one of the Baron’s earlier conquests and she’s out for revenge. She reveals that he is every bit as despicable as we feared and that she’d be quite prepared to warn Violet of his previous history. But Holmes needs something concrete to pin on the Baron. Kitty knows of a black book in which he keeps intimate details of his female conquests. So now we have something to work with. Yet as Kitty is leaving she tells Holmes that she doesn’t want payment from him for this or any other information, but would rather “like to see him in the mud with my foot in his cursed face”. Sounds like trouble to me, but Holmes is not at all concerned. OK, so we’ll pretend we didn’t hear that for the sake of the plot.

Left: Baron von Gruner quizzes Dr Watson on Ming-era pottery

Off we go to see Violet and to warn her that her husband-to-be is a bit of a lad… oh, and a homicidal maniac to boot, but the young lady is having none of it. It would appear that Baron von Gruner is quite adept at his hypnotism.

Kitty is incensed at Violet’s lack of attention to her warnings, and comments: “I don’t give a tinker’s cuss if you live or die”, and at this juncture I’m inclined to agree. There’s’ nothing more infuriating in a drama than to have a weak character, however heavily the plot depends upon it (I shall revoke my absolution – well, it is a gentleman’s prerogative to change his mind!). Surely Arthur Conan Doyle should’ve put more flesh on her? Anyway, we leave Violet for a moment with Kitty’s warning: “You’ll be sorry you didn’t listen to me, my fine lady!”. And she probably would, except that Sherlock Holmes is bound to win through seconds from disaster.

Outside on the street, Holmes has just seen Kitty off in a Hackney Carriage when two thugs see off Holmes in a rather tame tousle compared to today’s standards. (I have to admit that seeing Douglas Wilmer face down in a puddle of water rather pleasing, and he’s supposed to be the hero!). Something is surely amiss. Ah – I know what it is. Holmes is not dead after all, oh no! He was on his guard and put up a brave fight. Good ol’ Holmes!

In the interim, the Baron spots an article entitles “Murderous attack on Sherlock Holmes” in his newspaper, prompting a most evil smirk to appear across his face. We get the impression that he would’ve liked to have seen the attack at close quarters.

Meanwhile, Watson tends to Holmes, who evidently wasn’t quite as badly beaten as we’d been lead to believe. As a result of the attack, he sees to it that Kitty is taken into his protection in case the Baron should have any further murderous inclinations. However, the Showgirl is the last thing on von Gruner’s mind, as it appears he’s already taken steps to skip the country for the Big Apple. This decision seems rather strange to me, given that he’s still of the belief that Holmes has been dealt a fatal blow, and that his marriage to Miss De Merville can go ahead without a hitch.

Always hot on the Austrian’s heels, Holmes discovers that Baron’s plans and announces to Watson that they have three full days before he sails to the Colonies to sort him out (let’s hope they do better than Time Team!). But they do have a secret weapon: Watson is to become an expert in Chinese Potter – a passion of the Baron’s – in twenty-four hours. Oh dear, what was Arthur thinking…?

The cracks are now beginning to show in Violet’s hypnotism and the Baron has to give a little top-up before he sets off for the States, while Watson cries, “Ming, Ming, Ming!” It can only get better.

At last the final scenes. Kitty is “Prepared for anything”, and Watson has indeed become a pottery expert, although I don’t feel he’d fare well on Antiques Roadshow somehow, but he claims that he could hold an intelligent conversation on the subject nonetheless. Well, I’m all for confidence, and besides it’s in the interest of the plot to suspend our disbelief, isn’t it? Watson is to go undercover.

And so off we go with Watson to see the Baron, who suspects that the visitor is not quite what he claims to be. Watson, it must be said, does little to dissuade him; mumbling something about the Tang vase presented to him for inspection, and hastily moving on to the reason for his call, which is the Ming saucer he wished to sell to the Baron. After only a couple of shots at Watson’s amour, von Gruner discovers that he knows little about Chinese pottery, and that he’s indeed a spy. A revolver is produced. Is Watson about to be horribly dispatched?

Right: Sherlock Holmes confronts the Baron

A sudden noise from the study. “Ah, I see,” exclaims the Baron. “There is more than the one of you!”. Of course, we should’ve known; Watson was merely a momentary distraction whilst Holmes and Kitty attempt to find the infamous ‘Black Book’. The Baron bursts into the study. Holmes ducks bravely behind a curtain; Watson dashes to the rescue, whilst kitty saves the day by throwing her little acid concoction into the Baron’s face, leaving him writhing around in agony.

All rather grim, really.

Back at Baker Street, we’re rushed through the loose ends of the mystery. Kitty manages to escape with only a month in the slammer for melting the Baron’s face, whilst Holmes succeeds in evading the charges of burglary since he apparently has friends in high places. Good heavens! was British Law so corrupt even then?! I’m afraid so.

In Retrospect

Now I bet you’re dying to know what our very own Mr. Wyngarde was like in this production. His accent was a curious blend of Gary Oldman in ‘Dracula’ and the late Alan Rickman, which sounds as if it would be quite distracting, but it actually works wonderfully. Well, apart from one phrase used when discussing the hypnotism: “No vinking lites and darkened rrrrooms” which, to me, sounded a bit like Jamie Lee Curtis doing her ‘Inge from Sweden’ bit in ‘Trading Places’.

It’s clear to me that Peter the most ability in the drama – showing a marvelously rapid progression of expressions during the close-up’s in headed exchanges, and creating particularly idiosyncratic gestures and movements when he, as the Baron, inspected his collection of pottery. Von Gruner is one of those characters who, I assume, would be very difficult to play convincingly. An actor would either triumph or flounder disastrously in the rile and I for one am grateful that Peter carried it so well, since the only other outstanding performance came from Rosemary Leach as Miss Winter.

Douglas Wilmer as Holmes. Hmm. Not convinced at all. His mannerisms and body language were far too camp for my liking. I know that Holmes is supposed to be more than a little dramatic and rather conceited, but Wilmer made me want to give him a taste of the back of my hand. Give me Jeremy Brett any day!

Nigel Stock as Watson fared much better, but was written as too much of a bungling idiot. I mean, this man is supposed to be a doctor of medicine, and yet here he is, running around going “doh!” like Homer Simpson! No, it was a fine attempt, but again the scriptwriters needed a good kick up the rear.

The plot was fairly rushed, but did have some good twists and turns, such as kitty’s revenge and Holmes attempted murder, despite not really having a crime to solve as such. I feel this would’ve been much more impressive if Wilmer had been replaced and the duration extended somewhat, but at the time of production there was, of course, numerous constraints on the cast and crew.

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Personal Views

“There is nothing more important than trifles!” Sherlock Holmes once said – and so, at the beginning of my short essay on The Illustrious Client, starring Douglas Wilmer, Nigel Stock, and with Peter Wyngarde as the guest villain, I’d like to make two things clear: the title of this article is absolutely none-canonical, while the episode is. Holmes often said: “My dear Watson,” as well as “elementary”, but they were never said together. It’s one of the great misquotes of film and literature, as is “Play it again, Sam,” for example.

I was glad to read in the above piece by Ian Smith was a ‘review’ in its truest sense, since many articles on Peter’s film and TV work are merely re-telling’s of the story. However, as a Holmsian of many years, I had to chuckle at some of his comments.

There’s no doubt that he’s a good and amusing writer, so there’s no point in discussing that. But his knowledge of the world of Sherlock Holmes seems to be rather marginal – or he simply used some of his writing abilities to make fun of the episode, because he disliked it(?)?

I certainly agree that Peter Wyngarde made the best with the part of the “Austrian murderer”, von Gruner. In fact, his portrayal is more than a match for that of Eric Porter’s Professor Moriarty in the Jeremy Brett series. If you’ve seen the Anthony valentine version of von Gruner with Brett’s Holmes, you would see how well Peter delivers the character. He is charming and attractive, cunning, sadistic, deadly as a poisonous snake, whist moving almost cat-like around the room. Valentine, on the other hand, looked rather like an old gigolo who’s best times are behind him; you just couldn’t understand why Violet, or indeed ANY woman, would go for him. It couldn’t possibly be for his old-world continental; charm because he had none!

Valentine plays his game like a clever amateur. Peter is in full control of it. The scene where Wilmer’s Holmes confronts von Gruner is a delight, and both Wyngarde and Wilmer show the best of their acting abilities; this alone is worth the whole film! By the way, as a German, I can say that Peter manages the accent fairly well.

I was surprised to read in Ian Smith’s review that he found Wilmer “camp”. This tag might fit the scene where Holmes leaves the Turkish bath like a Roman senator, but nowhere else. I won’t argue either who was the better Holmes; Brett or Wilmer. In my opinion, Brett was wonderful, but Wilmer was superb. There’s no doubt that the latter plays Holmes as the ‘Thinking Machine’ that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle described, with all the mannerisms found in the books.

On the other hand, Jeremy Brett went quite over the top on a few occasions, and clearly went too far in some of the later episodes.

I still feel that Jeremy Brett and Peter Cushing were the best Holmes, but Wilmer comes close.

I also agree with Ian Smith’s comments on Rosemary Leach’s performance as “that hell-cat” Kitty Winter. She gives a good performance, but on the other hand, I wouldn’t go for her myself, and I can’t see why von Gruner would be attracted to her either. She would clearly have no chance of winning a beauty context!

Written by Uwe Sommerlad

Above Left: Peter’s script from the episode. As you will note, the story was originally entitled ‘The Adventure of the Illustrious Client’.

Broadcast: Tuesday 27, June 1961 (USA)

Character: Paul Roland

Some Background

One Step Beyond, which ran from 1959 to 1961, was created by Merwin Gerard and produced by Collier Young. Each of the 90 episodes were introduced by John Newland – ‘Your guide to the supernatural’, who also directed every one of the stories.

Sometimes billed as Ancola Presents: One Step Beyond – Ancola being the series sponsor, this ABC network show was staged as a sort of docu-drama, since each of the episode were said to have been based on true stories.

While the earlier episodes were all shot in in the USA, the final thirteen installments – including ‘Nightmare’, were filmed at MGM Studios in Borehamwood, England. The idea to bring the show to Britain was John Newland’s, as he felt that it would give the series a new lease of life, and because “Great Britain offered good actors, good situations and good settings”.

‘Nightmare’, being episode 34 of Season 3, was one of those filmed in Borehamwood and on location in Scotland. “We had some pretty wild weather while we were up on the north coast of the Highlands,” Peter remembers. “It was raining, freezing cold, and the sea was lashing the cliffs. I think we were all glad to get back on the bus after that one!”

The Story

‘Come – you’ll witness things strange, unexpected, mysterious, but not to be denied. Join me now and take One Step Beyond…’

So goes the introduction to this episode.

The first scene opens of in the studio artist, Paul Rowland (Peter Wyngarde), who’s working a portrait of Lady Diana Metcalf (Ambrosine Phillpots) – an elderly woman, who’s sitting across the room from him. She’s obviously a lady of means, as she’s dressed in an expensive gown and with a string of pearls wrapped several times around her neck.

Paul is oblivious to her, as he is of our host John Newland, who conveys the following:

‘There is a great deal more going on here than just an artist painting a portrait – a great deal more.

The world of the psychic co-exists with the physical world; sharing every instance of time, every speck of space. But what an uneasy co-existence. For always the psychic seems like some wild thin; always straining at its own dimension. Always threatening to explode into the other world – the physical world.

Sometimes it does…’

Right: Peter as troubled artist, Paul Roland.

Whilst Paul concentrates intently on his work, the elderly lady entertains him with stories of her mother – also a painter, and of all the artists she had met over the years. She goes on to regale him with the tales of how she came by the striking string of pearls, and of her husband, and family ties.

Throughout her monologue, Paul remains transfixed on his work, and not even mention of his forthcoming wedding to socialite, Jill Barrington, can entice his stare from the canvas. “Everyone knows,” Lady Diane continues. “The dashing young artist from Paris is going to marry her. It’s in all the gossip columns”. Again, there’s not so much as a flicker of interest from Paul.

As we’re brought closer to him, we see how emotional he is over the picture he’s creating on the canvas. In the background, we now hear the woman make mention of the fact that, not once since Paul began working had he ever so much as glanced at her.

“Are you working from memory?” she enquires. When she again receives no response, she gets up from her seat and walks over to him. Paul, in turn, moves away from his easel and stands, staring out through a window.

The elderly woman is shocked when she at last sees what Paul’s been drawing all this time: It’s the face of a beautiful young woman surrounded by flowers, but with a hideous devil-like beast in the background. “If you don’t mind me saying, you haven’t exactly caught me!” her Ladyship comments, sarcastically. “Or am I meant to be that wretched creature peering over her shoulder?”

Paul remains stoic – his gaze unmoving from the window. With this, Lady Diane grabs her coat and bag, but before leaving enquires if the artist if he’s ill. He gives her a momentary glance, before his eyes return to the window.

“Henry (her husband, we presume) always said artists were mad!” she barks before heading for the door. “But I thought he was being reactionary!” And with that, she turns on her heel and stomps out.

Now alone in his studio, Paul walks slowly towards the easel, and gently strokes the face of the young woman he’s drawn in charcoal. “Claire”, he whispers softly. “Claire”.

Later that same evening, Paul’s fiancé Jill (Mary Peach), arrives to find the studio in darkness. She’s carrying a selection of holiday brochures, as she’s hopes that the two of them might finally decide upon a destination for their honeymoon in seven days’ time.

On hearing her call his name, Paul appears in the doorway that leads to his living room. He and Jill embrace, and they take a seat together. She reminds him that May 7th, the date he’d insisted upon for the wedding, was almost upon them. She comments how tired he looks, and handing him the brochures, insists that a holiday would do him good.

Apathetically, he flicks through the pamphlets, prompting Jill to ask if he cares at all about their upcoming nuptials. When she gets no response from him, she resolves to enquire if he loves her at all. When once again Paul declines to reply, she gets up to look at the picture he’s been working on, and when she sees that it’s not Diana Metcalf, asks who the young woman is.

When instead of giving her a name as expected, Paul merely asks her why she wishes to know, Jill becomes irritated – querying whether the girl in the portrait is her “rival”. Paul tells her quietly that she wouldn’t know her if he were to tell her, and that he can’t tell her anything anyway.

Since she’s not willing to accept such a glib answer, Jill heads for the door, snapping: “Well, I’ll leave you alone with her!”

Paul calls her back, and in a somewhat confused state, discloses that he’s never seen the woman before in his life. Unwilling to believe him, and angry at his indifference towards her and the wedding, she departs in a temper.

The next time we see Paul he’s mixing paint on a pallet in his studio, and is about to begin applying the oils to the drawing of the young woman he’d been working on earlier. It’s then that his agent, Geoffrey Heathcote (Ferdy Mane) arrives. It’s obvious that Lady Metcalf has been in touch with him, as he remonstrates with the artist for insulting a valuable client. Paul, however, remains detached from everything that’s being said to him, and instead concentrates entirely on the painting.

At Jill’s apartment later that evening, there’s a knock at the door which wakens her from her sleep. She finds Paul on the doorstep and he asks if he can come inside.

At first he tells her that she’s right – with only six days to go to their wedding, they really need to decide on a destination for their honeymoon. She, however, is more interested in his recent inexplicable behaviour, whereupon he swears once again that he’s never seen the girl in his drawing before.

He goes on to tell her that he’s been commissioned to paint three portraits, but that each has ended with him sketching that girl; “It’s as though she’s trying to possess me,” he confesses. “I can’t draw anything without her face staring at me”.

Her anger at him now turning to sympathy, and recommends that they call a doctor, but Paul refuses. He then attempts to turn the topic of conversation from the girl back to the wedding. With less than a week to go, he tells her, they really must concentrate on the honeymoon. But where to go; Paris, Berlin or Venice, perhaps?

Jill, however, is still concerned for his wellbeing, but he reassures her that he’s merely been working too hard and is overtired; their getting away for a few days will do him the world of good.

Left: Jill comforts her fiancé, Paul

He then begins to touch her face in the same way he’d done with the drawing of the girl in his studio, and as he takes Jill in his arms, he begins to talk about the little cottage they’d bought by the sea: “It’s the prettiest in Cornwall – you said it yourself”, he says. Jill, though, is bemused, since they don’t have a cottage, in Cornwall or anywhere else. Her confusion is intensified further still when he makes mention of the boat he’d bought and then, worst of all, refers to her as Claire.

Immediately, Jill goes to the phone and starts to dial the doctors number. Completely oblivious to her actions, Paul picks up his jacket and starts heading for the door. He smiles, believing her to be calling the travel agent: “Where did we decide to go?” he asks as he opens the door to leave. “Venice?”

The following day, Jill visits Geoffrey Heathcote to share with him the events of the previous evening. The agent confides that that he’s been handing painters for years and that he genuinely likes Paul.

She tells him that she believes that her fiancé desperately needs the help of a doctor; not just a regular GP, but a psychiatrist. Geoffrey confides to her that he has a plan, but that if it fails, they could both be in trouble. Nevertheless, they decide to try anyway.

Back at the Studio, Paul is again working on the painting of the young woman, when there’s a knock at the door. When he fails to respond, the visitors – Geoffrey Heathcote and Psychiatrist (Patrick Holt), decide to let themselves in. As they do so, Paul throws a blanket over the painting to hide it from view.

Geoffrey asks Paul why he’s stopped answering his phone. given that he’s been trying for hours to contact him. He tells the young artist that the Doctor is a buyer for a museum, and that he could be interested in buying some of his paintings. Paul merely continues wiping paint from his hands, without a word.

The Doctor tells Paul that he’ll be leaving for London in the morning, so if their visit is not convenient, he could rearrange at a later date. Once again, Paul doesn’t respond. However, as the Doctor approaches the easel where the artist has been working, Paul whips the blanket from over the painting to allow the Doctor to see it.

The first thing that he notices is the creature that’s peering over the young woman’s shoulder, and he asks Paul what it is. But instead of answering the Doctor’s question, the young man grabs a pallet knife and begins slashing at the painting before running from the studio to his living quarters and slamming the door behind him.

Geoffrey now joins the Doctor to look at what’s left of the painting, and asks his companion what he makes of Paul’s behaviour. The Doctor says that he’s obviously disturbed, and that they should try to persuade him to go to his private nursing home for a few weeks where he can be observed.

The Doctor then notices a hand towel that Paul had been using to clean his hands and sees that it’s been knotted several times like a garrote. He also points to the creature in the painting which he refers to as a “gargoyle”, saying that in art especially, such effigies are often used as a symbol of evil. The Doctor concludes that the woman in the painting is merely a figment of Paul’s imagination, upon whom he can display violence so that he doesn’t have to reveal the identity of the real person: that person being his fiancé, Jill.

The Doctor discloses to Geoffrey that it’s imperative that they find out what exactly is behind Paul’s apparent psychosis, and so they try knocking at the young man’s door in an attempt to speak to him, but they’re merely met with silence.

A car rounds the bend on a narrow coastal road; Jill is at the wheel with Paul in the passenger seat. She asks him where exactly they’re going: “Cornwall”, he replies, adding that she should continue along the same road whilst he takes a nap.

Eventually they reach the tiny village of Cadgwith, which is nestled along the edge of a cove. As the car pulls up near by a cliff edge, Paul gets out and surveys the scene. His eyes are immediately drawn to a little stone cottage, where he walks slowly up the path and knocks on the door. After a moment or two, the door is answered by Claire (Jean Cadell) – a little old lady who, on seeing Paul, whispers the name ‘John’ and falls faint into his arms.

Right: Claire collapses when she comes face-to-face with her beloved ‘John’.

A doctor is called who attends to the lady; saying that her heartbeat is now growing stronger and that she’ll soon regain consciousness.

Whilst Paul takes a look around the cottage, the Doctor informs him that that the Claire is something of a recluse; never leaving her home from one year to the next. Her fiancé, he continues, died during the Great War, and that she’d spent the past 40 years mourning him. The house, he explains, would’ve been their honeymoon cottage.

Just then, Paul spots an old photograph of Claire with her fiancé, who’s in uniform. He’s the spitting image of Paul!

Over the photo’ frame is a lace scarf. The Doctor explains that it was a local custom for the groom to give his intended such a gift exactly seven days before their wedding. On each day thereafter, the bride would open one of the knots. Paul notices that only five of the knots had been undone: “That’s because he died two days before the wedding”.

At that moment, Claire begins to regain consciousness, so Paul sits beside her on the sofa. She smiles lovingly at him, and they embrace. As he leaves the cottage, the young artist looks as if an enormous weight has been lifted from him. He smiles to himself, and walks back to the car.

We’re now returned to the Narrator, who brings us up to date with what happened to Paul and Jill after their trip to Cornwall. He tells us that that the two married as planned and that Paul’s fame as an artist rose year on year.

Claire, the old lady in the tiny coastal village, passed away some years ago. She lies buried, we’re told, in a small churchyard next to her beloved John.

But how to explain the inexplicable experience of Paul Rowland, whose journey had been into a life he’d apparently lived before? There are millions of people around the world, John Newland informs us, who’d tell you that the explanation is quite obvious. Reincarnation. A single flame – passed from torch to torch throughout eternity.

“Others may give another psychic explanation, but such phenomena has been reported again and again through the ages”.

The most famous person ever to unearth evidence of his own reincarnation, it’s said, was the 19th Century poet, Gabriel Rossetti: “For there exists today an absolute likeness of Rossetti and the woman he loved, painted some 300 years before his birth”.

Youth Theatre Production. National Tour – Autumn/Winter 1946/47

Character(s): A Young Man/The Door Attendant/Policeman Owens

The Story

The story, which was written by Elsa Shelley, is set entirely in a juvenile court, and is set in the United States during the present day (for reasons known only to the Author herself, the American location was retained).

The play was premiered in Britain in May of 1946, having been produced by the New Lindsay Theatre Club, and transferred to the West End in July of the same year. Producer and director, Peter Cote, brought in a youthful cast – possibly to appeal to a younger audience, for this revival.

In the very early performances, Peter played ‘The Door Attendant’ – a very minor role even in a youth theatre production, but managed to gain promotion throughout its run, by playing both ‘A Young Man’ and, after Bryan Spielman left the cast, taking over as ‘Policeman Owens’.

Interestingly, in all the programmes that were produced for the English tour misspelled Peter’s name – listing him as Peter Wingard.

Although the ideals and objectives of Juvenile Courts both here in Britain and in the United States are identical, court procedure in America is quite different, and those processes had to be explained by a serving magistrate (Mark Auliff J.P.) in the programme, given that audiences weren’t quite so familiar with U.S. courtroom dramas back then as we are now.

The eponymous ‘Pick-Up Girl’, Elizabeth Collins, was played by Doreen Hughes who, Mr Auliff pointed out, had her counterparts in this country. Elsa Shelly, we were told, had spent years studying child criminals, and had used the play to point out that the age of female delinquents in particular, had dropped from 18 to just 15.

Mr Auliff continued by saying that he’d seen the play in rehearsal, and was impressed by its accuracy – recommending it to anyone who had an interest in ‘social problems’. “I believe that the deep-seeing and relentless analysis so dramatically placed before us in ‘Pick-Up Girl’,” he continued, “cannot fail to leave an indelible mark on the imagination”.

Above: Press advertisement for the play in Leeds

‘On tour of a play about juvenile delinquency by Elsa Shelley called ‘Pick-Up Girl’, Peggy joined late to replace an actress who’d fallen out with the director. A very young Peter Wyngarde was in the cast. One day he missed a matinee performance because he’d mixed up the days and had gone to the cinema instead. Peggy decided to help and covered up for him. When he returned to the theatre for the evening performance, he found a note from Peggy. ‘I’ve told them you’d gone to the matinee of the pre-London tour of the Old Vic with Olivier and Richardson in the same production. And that I thought you’d learn more than at our matinee. Back me up, Peggy’. The fact that the Old Vic was not expected in town for another two weeks seem to have escaped her and landed Wyngarde in even deeper trouble. “I was severely reprimanded for making up such a poor excuse,” says Wyngarde. Peggy simply roared with laughter.’ Taken from: ‘Peggy: The Life and Times of Margaret Ramsey, Play Agent’ by Colin Chambers. Methuen Publishing Ltd.

Original programme from The Bristol Hippodrome. Notice Peter’s name has been misspelt.

What happens on tour Stays on tour!

The tour of ‘Pick-Up Girl’ visited many of the major towns and cities of England in 1946/47, including Birmingham, Bristol and… Blackpool.

The company were put up in a typical B&B close to the famous Grand Theatre on Church Street, where the play was to be performed. One of the older actresses in the group who’d been cast to play Mrs. Marti and was eventually replaced by Peggy Ramsey (see the story above), had managed to get her claws into Peter and wouldn’t let go.

“Everywhere I went, she was there,” he says. “At lunch, dinner – whatever, she always succeeded in getting a seat next to me. In the end I decided to s**g her and get it over with”.

The trouble was that the bed in they chose creaked so much that everyone within a 25-mile radius knew what was going on: “It was really off-putting,” Peter recalls, “but all she kept yelling was ‘Oh God! Oh God! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!’”

On the following morning when he went down for breakfast, Peter found all the other members of the cast – which included Edmund Bailey, all sitting quietly in the dining room. That was until everyone last one of them to man started up with: ‘CREAK! CREAK! CREAK! CREAK!…’ At which Bailey inquired: “SO – what did you get up to last night, Peter?”

“I didn’t know what to do with myself as I munched my cornflakes,” he admits. “They didn’t let me forget it in a hurry either!”

Over the years, Peter attended hundreds of parties and events. This on-going section will tell the stories behind some of his adventures…

Please scroll down for the latest additions.

The Isle of Wight Festival – August 1970

Peter and friend enjoying the music (see page 195 of ‘Peter Wyngarde: A Life Amongst Strangers‘.

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Peter at the Department S launch party, 1969

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Peter with actress, Madeline Smith, at an event at the Grosvenor Hotel in London, 1973

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Peter in London with his Norwegian girlfriend – model, Elisabeth Skjortekjole

In the gardens behind Peter’s home in Earl’s Terrace, London

And a candid photo of Peter and Elisabeth in Berlin, 1971

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A SURPRISE ENCORE WITH A CUDDLE FROM THE KING

The London Evening News – Thursday, 10 October, 1973

Backstage after all the congratulations from people like Cicely Courtneidge, who looks upon herself as a second mother to Sally Ann Howes, the stars exchanged presents.

He, using a line from the script, gave her a large model elephant. “I think it’s brought us both good luck”, he told her.

She, remembering that the King wears glasses in the show, gave his a pair of Georgian spectacles. Said TV’s Jason King: “When I get the lenses taken out , I will wear them in future performances”.

Both of them went on to a series of parties to mark the opening. There were public ones and private celebrations. Peter got to two of them but missed a third. “With a matinee due today,” he said, “I felt I had to sleep some time”.

It was his first West End musical, and he was at the theatre early to mentally adjust himself from London to Siam – leaving one world for another.

“It was wonderful hearing the adulation for the music,” he said. “I was so nervous that I must’ve gargled a hundred times before going on stage.

“But it was exhilaration rather than fear. My last words to Sally were, “look into my eyes while we’re out there.”

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Opening night of ‘Oh, Calcutta!” at The Roundhouse, Camden, London – Monday, 27th July 1970

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Taken in a park in a park off the Edgeware Road in London, Peter celebrates the revival of Roger’s and Hammerstein’s ‘The King and I’ on June 8th, 1973. Behind him is his Co-Star, Sally Anne Howes, and a selected number of his 108 Royal Children.The cast and orchestra of 60 played in Leeds, Southsea, Wolverhampton, Nottingham, Hull and Manchester before opening in London in October 1973.

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The London Evening Standard – Thursday, 21st September, 1972

Actor Peter Wyngarde, star of the television series Jason King, and singer Dana Gillespie were among guests who fled a fire early today at a Piccadilly nightclub.

Firemen, some wearing breathing apparatus, rescued five people trapped by the flames. The rescue was hampered because firemen were unable to get their appliances into Mason’s Yard, off Jermyn Street, to tackle the blaze at the three-story Music Workshop Club. But after dragging an escape ladder across the yard, they rescued two men from the roof and helped three others from the top floor flat down an internal staircase.

Lee Jackson, a 25-year-old flautist with Jackson heights, was playing at the club when the alarm was raised. He said: “We had just finished our set when the manager yelled fire, but he’s known as a practical joker, so we ignored him.”

Peter Wyngarde, who was unhurt in the blaze said: “I smelt smoke, so raised the alarm and left.”

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In 1973, whilst Peter was on a promotional tour of Germany and Austria, he took a couple of days off to go skiing in Switzerland.

Whilst there, he met a group of underprivileged British kids and their teacher, who’d been taking on by a charity. As a kindly gesture, he paid for the group to go up the mountain by cable car.

Julia Young, who was then part of the class told the Hellfire Club recently: “I met Peter when I was on a charity skiing trip in Switzerland. He wanted to do something for our group and tried to arrange skiing lessons but his PR people wanted to big up the charity angle and he refused. Instead he arranging sleighs to take us to his hotel, and he had a tea party for us in the lobby. Such a wonderful, kind and generous man. He gave me hope that celebrities can be nice people as well”.

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Anne wore full theatrical costumes. His comprised of a knee-length velvet Kimono with a cloak trimmed with gold braid, a 900-year old Moroccan bracelet and clogs.

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Each of the stars of the film went to a premier in different cities around the world. Peter was chosen to attend the New York showing.

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See the entire ensemble that Peter was wearing at the premier HERE

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MANY HAPPY RETURNS OF THE DAY FOR CHARLIE CHAPLAIN

There was a standing ovation for Charlie Chaplain at the charity premier of ‘Modern Times’ ay the Paramount Theatre on Saturday, 19th February, 1972.

Peter commented to waiting pressmen that he thought the power cuts which had plagued Britain that particular year were made all the more ironic after attending the premier: “Many a true word is spoken in jest,” he quipped.

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Here Peter is seen with the actress, Ann Lynn, on 4th July, 1969, at a theatre gala in London. On seeing this photo’ some years later, Peter couldn’t believe he could ever wear such a shirt, let alone allow anyone to photograph him in it!!!

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Peter enjoying a drink and a chat with theatrical empresario (Sir) Peter Hall and the latter’s second wife, Jacqueline Taylor.

STOP PRESS!

Peter with Austrian actress, Antonia Reininghaus, at the premier of ‘Alten Simpl’ (Montag/Dienstag, 31 October 1977).

Peter pictured with Verity Lambert at the 1961 World premiere of ‘Too Late Blues’, which starred Bobby Darin and Stella Stevens.

Peter with lady friend, Margit Rieti

Peter with fellow actor, Stanley Baker, at the Annual Variety Club dinner – November, 1973

The Duke of Gloucester chats with Peter and Delia Sainsbury backstage at the Theatre Royal, Bristol, on Tuesday, 10th September, 1974, after a performance of ‘Present Laughter’. With them is Charles Clarke, the theatre’s owner. The Theatre Royal had chosen.

‘Present Laughter’ to re-open their splendid Georgian theatre of September 9th, following a summer refurbishment.

The Duke, who was the guest of honour at the ‘black-tie’ occasion, joined invited guests of the management and company at a champagne party on stage after the show.

There were many civic dignitaries from Bath, Bristol and elsewhere to lend importance to the occasion, which brought hopeful signals for a new and profitable lease of life for the grand old theatre.

N.B. Apologies for the quality of the photo’, as it has come from a newspaper and hasn’t copied well. However, I thought you’d rather see it as is as opposed to not at all.

First Broadcast: March 9th, 1969

The script is bound in a handsome light-blue folder with the Department S logo printed in black in the lower left corner. The episode title, Six days, is printed on the middle of the cover.

Inside the cover are 88 pages of different colours; 51 white, 33 pink, 3 blue and 1 yellow. The different colours signify changes and revisions, common practice in the TV and film business.

The first page of the script has the Department S logo printed in red and the typed message: The Series Created by: Monty Berman and Dennis Spooner. 

Page two has “Six Days” Screenplay by Gerald Kelsey, and Kelsey’s autograph.

Page 3 says:

• Produced by Monty Berman
• Script Supervision by Dennis Spooner

A Scoton Production, A.B.P. Elstree Studios, Boreham Wood. Herts. Elstree 1600.

Page 4 presents us with the cast list, divided into Principals, Supporting and Extras.

Page 5 is the set list, divided into Studio interiors, Car Interiors, Studio Lot, Locations, Stock and Process shots. The latter are specified for scenes 51, 58, 60, 62, 67 and are all back projection for car interiors.The script proper begins on page 6.

The last three pages of the script are blue which shows that the end had been changed, it also states that scenes 154, 155, 156, 157 and 158 are deleted. If anyone has any idea what the original ending was supposed to be I would be grateful for any information.

On the first of the three blue pages someone has written Rosemary Nichols, a sign maybe that the pages I now have were originally intended for her. On the back of the last page of the script are a lot of handwritten stuff, indicating that the script was perhaps used by the second unit director. This is likely since they concern location shoots at Heathrow Airport. Apart from lists of scenes to shoot it says that lunch break is between 12:30 and 1:30. It also has some instructions for establishing shots using Sullivan’s double for Episode 7, “One of Our Aircraft Is Empty”, that obviously were shot at the same time.

When comparing the script to the episode we all know and love I found that all actors followed the scripted dialog almost to the letter with one exception… a certain Peter. Almost all his lines appear differently on tape than they do in the script. I can only add that the Jason King in the script is a great deal more boring than the one we see on screen, this is probably further proof that the character was modelled on, and by, Peter himself! In the following I will not point out very small differences, no doubt adapted by actors to make the dialogue flow more naturally, I will however present the more significant changes made by Peter.

The pre-credit sequence follows the script almost slavishly as does the beginning of the episode up to scene 27 which occurs immediately after Sullivan has driven Seretse to London. In the script two scenes follow that are not in the finished episode. Since one of them includes the first glimpse of our hero I chose to present them “in extencio”.

Act two begins with Sullivan meeting Seretse outside the embassy. Look carefully at this scene and you will notice that the man getting out of the car and coming up to the Rolls is not Joel Fabiani, but a double. The scenes with Sullivan in the car are all shot in the studio using back projection.

We now come to the scene between Jason and Annabelle in Pecks’ office. A comparison may prove interesting.

From here on everything is as scripted to the end of Act 2, except the scene where Annabelle plays back the tape from Italy. The sequence on the film has been shortened compared to the script.

The third act begins with the office scene. It runs very much as scripted, the changes in dialogue seem to have been done on the spot to make the dialogue flow better. The scene between Sullivan and Seretse that follows is missing in the script which goes directly to the scene in Hallet’s study. It does pop up later as we will see; it has probably been moved up for better dramatic effect.

Durres and Walsham are very good at following the script in the apartment scene that follows, but when we cut to the car interior Annabelle (!) surprises by leaving a whole line out; she says “Think of my reputation!”. In the script she adds “Looks bad when a girl chases men”.

She is back in good form however in the following scene in Walsham’s apartment following the script to the letter. In the brief cut-away to Hallet however, there is a small difference; The papers he is photographing reads top secret on the right hand page and AN AGREEMENT BETWEEN GREAT BRITAIN AND THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA on the left. The script says it should be TOP SECRET ANGLO AMERICAN NAVAL TREATY (MEDITERRANIAN BASES). When we cut back to Annabel the Bank of Switzerland statement shows a balance of 444.000 Sfr, the script says £37.000. The last “in” entry on screen is 120.000fr the 17 -7-68, in the scripts it is £10.000 on the 17 of the month.

During the conversation between Annabelle and Janet a bit of dialogue is missing starting immediately after the cut-away to Jason in the car. It looks like this has been cut out to save time and the picture of Jason inserted instead to avoid a jump-cut. This missing piece of dialogue goes like this:

• After Annabelle has left the apartment the script has the scene between Sullivan and Seretse discussed above. The next scene, between Jason and Annabelle in the car is very different:

INT. KINGS CAR. NIGHT. STUDIO. (BACKING) KING IS AT THE WHEEL AS THE DOOR OPENS AND ANNABELLE, STILL WEARING THE WIG, GETS IN.

ANNABELLE DRAGS OFF THE WIG.

The rest of the act is as scripted apart from Walsham’s last line on screen which isn’t in the script.

Act four contains one of the highlights of this episode. After the questioning of Janet and the brief shot in Hallet’s library we are on the street, looking into King’s car. As the script says Annabelle is at the wheel. Later when the car pulls out from the curb and drive past the camera King is driving. In the close-up where King says He’s stopping! (in the script it’s Annabelle who says it) Annabelle is back in the driver’s seat. As the car stops and King jumps out the worst double in the business is used, he doesn’t look anything like Mr Wyngarde!

From here on everything is as scripted except Jason King’s (and the episodes) last line which in the script reads:

Me (THEN) I think it’s time I went back and finished my novel…

With grateful and sincere thanks to Anders Edenholm.

More about Department S…

Broadcast: Saturday, July 14th, 1962

Character: Captain Martin Barton

Some Background

Out Of This World was the brainchild of Canadian, Sydney Newman, and Irene Shubik as a spin-off of the highly successful Armchair Theatre series of plays (1956-1974).

The run of 14 episodes, all of which were hosted by the legendary horror star, Boris Karloff, began on 24th June, 1962 and featured stories from some of the best sci-fi writers of the day, including Issac Asimov, Terry Nation, John Wyndham and Philip K. Dick.

‘Cold Equations’, was based on a short story by American science-fiction writer, Tom Goodwin, which was first published in ‘Astounding’ magazine back in August of 1954. This ABC production, which became the third episode proper of ‘Out Of This World’, was the first time the tale had been put onto film, although several adaptations have since followed.

Broadcast in July of 1962, the episode was destroyed* in the late 1960’s but, thankfully, an amateur recording of the play was made on the night of broadcast and preserved on a reel-to-reel tape recorder. That soundtrack was latterly obtained by the British Film Institute, who restored and digitalised it.

The episode, which was directed by Peter Hammond, was filmed at Teddington Studios in London in early 1962. At a duration of 49-minutes, the drama was divided into three acts and shown in a one-hour slot at 10pm on Saturday, 14th July, 1962. At the time of broadcast, Peter said that there’d evidently been a lot of advances in space travel and rocket technology since the B-movies of the 1950’s: “I needed none of the spacesuits and paraphernalia used by the astronauts of today,” he told the TV Times. “I just wore a plain black jumpsuit throughout.

The Story

When the scientists of a research unit on the planet Woten report that they’re all suffering with symptoms relating to the deadly Kala Fever Stardust, the nearest Earth vessel to the planet, readies a one-man Emergency Dispatch Ship (EDS) to rush serum to the technicians.

Since the incubation period of the disease is just 24 hours from the first symptoms appearing until death, nothing is left to chance when preparing the ship for its 80,000 mile mission of mercy. Every gram of equipment; each mile of its journey, has been worked out according to the most minute physical and mathematical specifications.

Left: Peter as Captain Barton discovers a stowaway on his ship

Captain Martin Barton (Peter Wyngarde), who has been chosen to carry out the mission, runs through his pre-flight checks, and when satisfied that all is in order, requests permission from the Stardust to depart.

Only a short time into his journey, the Captain notices an abnormal reading on his control panel, and immediately reports back to the Mothership that there’s been a 20oC rise in the temperature of the Supplies Locker. Personnel on the Stardust initially suppose that the anomaly has been caused, either by the EDS’ jets during take-off, or from a circuit failure. Since both these theories are highly unlikely, Barton rebuffs them – reasoning that there can be only one other cause of such an acute temperature change: he has a stowaway on-board.

Directly, Barton approaches the Locker and demands that the interloper show his or herself. He’s stunned when, after a brief pause, a teenage girl appears from between the storage racks to give herself up.

The youngster introduces herself as Lee Cross (Jane Asher), and when Barton demands to know what she’s doing on-board, she tells him that she just wanted to see her brother, Gerry, who’s part of a government survey crew based on Woten for the past decade. The 18-year-old, a newly qualified linguist, tells Barton that she’d been travelling on the Stardust to the planet of Mimir, where she’d recently secured a new job, and had slipped onto the EDS when no one had been paying attention.

Barton is furious, not least at the girl’s somewhat flippant attitude towards her situation – her response to his fury being to enquire if she might be required to pay a fine.

Right: Peter sitting at the Controls of EDS 34GII and, (centre), Jane Asher.

When he asks if her brother is aware of her new position on Mimir, she tells him that he’d been informed weeks earlier by Spacegram. Barton’s anger is swelled still further when he’s latterly told that Gerry is due to be posted to Mimir the following year. Why, the Captain demands, had she taken such a risk to board his ship when she would see her brother in a few months’ time anyway?

Lee, who until now had been oblivious to the trouble she was in, apologies profusely to Barton who, for now, has returned to the pilot’s chair. Lee notices that there’s been a sudden increase in speed, and enquires why. The Pilot reveals that since the ship is now carrying additional weight, he may not have enough fuel on-board to reach his destination.

Barton flicks a switch on his communicator and signals Stardust. He asks to speak with Commander Delhart (Peter Williams), in the vain hope that he might have a solution to the dilemma currently facing him. Delhart, however, bluntly reminds Martin of Paragraph L, Section 8 of the Interstellar Regulations relating to stowaways on Emergency Vessels: that any such person must be jettisoned immediately.

On hearing this, Lee becomes hysterical, as she can’t understand why such a severe punishment should befall her for what she perceives as relatively minor violation.

In the meantime, Barton tries to impress on his superior that the intruder is just a kid, but Delhart is resolute, and demands to know when Barton intends to carry out the “execution”. The Captain protests, but when Delhart insists, Martin takes the girls Identity Disc from around her neck and commences to read aloud from it: “T8374 dash Y84….” However, before Martin is able to continue, the Commander again insists on having the time of execution.

Barton stalls for a moment, then once again starts reciting from the Disc: “Name: Lee Cross; Sex: Female… “, but the cold voice stemming from the ships communicator becomes ever more instant: “Time of execution MUST be given before ID details!” The pilot, however, continues reading.

“This is most irregular!” bemoans the Commander.

“Then we do it in a ‘highly irregular way!”, the pilot responds, defiantly: “Hair: red; Eyes: blue; Date of Birth: 7 July 2060…”.

By this time, Lee is in a blind panic – begging Barton to make his commanding officer reconsider, but the Pilot’s hands are tied. Nevertheless, he launches one last angry salvo at Delhart: “The subject is a girl. Are you capable of understanding that?” The communicator, nonetheless, falls silent.

Martin now tries to calm the panic-stricken girl, who still can’t understand why she must face such a harsh penalty. Quietly, Barton attempts to explain their situation – revealing how the Kala Virus can kill within 24 hours of the first symptoms appearing, and how the medication supplies of the stricken Group 1 had been destroyed in a recent tornado.

“But don’t the others in Group 2 have the serum?” Lee enquires.

Barton acknowledges that they do, but because they’re based 8,000 miles away across the Western Sea, they wouldn’t be able to reach the others in time. Martin now hands her as copy of the Interstellar Regulations, which explains the amount of weight his vessel can carry given the quantity of fuel they have on board. If it were to run out, he explains, they’d both die.

Once again he contacts Stardust to ask if they would calculate his direction and velocity. They advise that he must reduce speed at exactly 19.10 – the time that Lee would be forced to leave the ship.

At last the girl begins to grasp the hopelessness of her situation: either she dies alone in the icy vacuum of space, or she takes seven other people with her. Martin reveals to her that, since the Stardust is now out of reach and the next nearest cruiser is over 40 light-years away, no one is in a position to help her.

Left: Captain Barton tries to comfort Lee as she comes to terms with her fate

Quietly, Lee confides that, when she boarded the ship, she had no idea what she was getting herself into. She knows now that what she did was stupid, but all she ever wanted was to see her brother. Only an hour earlier, she’d been safe on the Stardust, which was now continuing on its journey to Mimir, whilst she’s left with nothing but the blunt realisation that she’ll never see her family again.

Martin does his best to comfort the girl. The frontier, he says, is huge and scattered, and that the 16 men on Woden have an entire world to themselves. Gerry had recounted such stories to her many times; tales of exploration groups and survey parties – all of them fighting alien environments.

“And did he tell you that those environments fight back?” Barton asks, mournfully. Out in space, there was no room for mistakes. It was the responsibility of people like Martin Barton and Gerry Cross to make it safe for new settlers.

Lee tearfully surveys her surroundings, and remarks on the size of the cruiser they’re travelling in – commenting that it appeared to have more than enough room for its two passengers. She hadn’t given a thought to the fuel, since her only consideration had been for her brother.

When once there seemed to be so much time, the stark realisation that she only has 25 minutes of her life remaining suddenly hits home. As if in a vain attempt to take her mind off her impending fate, she turns to Captain Barton and enquires about the ships controls; pointing to various dials and switches on the console and asking what functions they performed. Yet, before he’s able to respond, her thoughts turn to her parents, and she asks if it might be possible for her to write a letter to them. Barton nods, but then suggests that there might be a possibility to make contact with Gerry on Wotan.

After several discouraging attempts, Barton finally manages to reach the Research Unit and at once asks to speak with Gerry Cross. Frustratingly, however, he’s informed that Cross is out in the field, but is expected back any moment. An assurance is given that a return call will be made the minute he gets back, and so an expectant Lee begins to write the letter to her parents.

Tearfully, the girl tells Barton how desperately she needs to hear her brother’s voice one last time. She admits that she’s afraid, and that she feels herself to be a coward. Directly, Martin determines that cowardice and fear are two separate things, and that she’s most certainly not a coward.

As she finishes her letter, she asks Barton – if her brother were to make a mistake out there in space, would he have to die for it? The Pilot says that, regrettably, life is like that along the Frontier. The Girl admits that she’d always thought of danger as fun, like it’d been when she watched a film at her local 3D cinema. But now it was for real, there was no going home after the show ended.

Worriedly, Barton tells her that Gerry would need to contact them soon, given the fact that they’d shortly be out of communications range. Even then, there’d be scant time for them to talk – briefer even than the time she had left. In that case, Lee laments, the moment the call ends, she wished to leave the craft. After all, what would be the point in her waiting around?

At that very second, Barton receives the long-anticipated response from Woden. Initially, Gerry is reluctant to believe that his sister could be on-board the EDS; the fact that the connection between the Research Station and the cruiser is so poor, doesn’t help. When finally Cross accepts that he is in fact speaking with his sister, he’s shocked to learn of her status as a Stowaway, given his understanding with interstellar law.

Gerry asks if he might speak with the Pilot, who gives the Researcher his coordinates and fuel status. Barton tells Cross that it would be impossible for him to turn back, but assures him that he’s done everything in his power to help the girl.

Left: Captain Barton prepares to eject Lee out through the escape hatch

As the signal to the Cruiser inevitably fades, Barton urges Lee to say a final goodbye before it’s too late. When the link between them finally breaks, Lee begins her silent trudge towards the air lock. Once inside, she turns to face Barton and nods as if to say “I’m ready”. Without any further exchange, the Pilot reaches for the leaver that sends the girl out into the freezing reaches of space.

Slowly and despondently, Captain Barton Returns to the pilot’s chair, where he presses the transmitter button that raises the Stardust. Calmly he reports that at 19.09 hours, Lee Cross was jettisoned from the ship: “Details of stowaway previously recorded”.

*All the episodes of the series were wiped, apart from one – ‘The Little Robot’.

Notes: In Tom Godwin’s original story, The Cold Equations, the stowaway was called Marilyn. It has been suggested that Godwin took his story from an earlier tale penned by Al Feldstein, which appeared in the comic book Weird Science in 1952. Feldstein narrative, A Weighty Decision, also featured a female stowaway who had to be jettisoned. An even earlier story, Precedent by E.C. Tubb, which was published in 1949, again saw a stowaway being ejected into space due of a lack of fuel.

Above: A contemporary cutting from The TV Times

Broadcast: Sunday, 26th September, 1965 (USA)

Character: Sir Richard Westby

Some Background

The original six-part series, which was simply entitled ‘Gallagher’, made its American TV debut in early 1964, and was followed later that same year by ‘The Adventures of Gallagher’.

One of ten children growing up at the turn of the century, Gallagher is determined not to stay a copyboy for long. Despite the complaints of Mr Crowley – editor of the Daily Press, who is forever maddened by Gallagher’s inability to keep his mind on his real job (but secretly admiring the boy’s “get up and go”), Gallagher is incessantly chasing clues and gathering information in the vain hope that Crowley will someday appoint him a reporter. Gallagher’s closest friend at the paper is senior journalist, Brownie, who’s often forced to cover up or excuse Gallagher’s schemes, as well as trying to persuade Crowley to re-hire the boy.

A third series – ‘The Further Adventures Of Gallagher’ went into production in March/April, 1965, and Peter was invited to play the part of Sir Richard Westby – a successful actor who arrives in town with his touring theatrical company to perform a work of Shakespeare. However, Westby’s reputation as a self-important womanizer has preceded him, and it wasn’t long before he’s made himself a great number of enemies in town.

The Story

In the opening scene, we see Gallagher (Roger Mobley) – a Copyboy and budding reporter at the Daily Press newspaper, walking down the street of a 1900 American town. He’s on his way to the Bijou Theatre to see a matinee presentation of Hamlet, starring renowned English actor, Sir Richard Westby (Peter Wyngarde).

Above: Peter as Sir Richard Westby as Hamlet in the final scene of the play

Outside the theatre, a sign proudly announces that the performance is completely sold out, and as Gallagher takes his seat inside, we’re treated to various sections from the play, including the dramatic finale, which leaves the rather well-to-do-patrons fixated. As Westby’s utters the immortal words “Horatio, I am dead!”, and his head falls, the curtains close and audience rise as one to applaud his magnificent performance.

None in the theatre that afternoon has been more affected by the play than young Gallagher, who acts out some of the scenes he’s just witnessed en route back to the offices of the Daily Press – fencing with a waiting cab driver, and quoting Shakespeare to a local policeman on his beat.

When finally he arrives at the newspaper office the Editor, Jefferson Crowley (Edmond O’Brien), demands to know where the lad has been all afternoon. He reveals cheerfully, that his colleague, Brownie (Harvey Korman), had given him his Press Pass to the theatre, since he himself had no wish to see the play.

When Crowley enquires why Brownie had not attend the theatre as instructed, the journalist explains that he’d seen Westby “massacre” Hamlet in New York the previous year, and had written a review based on that – not on the Bijou Theatre performance.

At that very moment, in strides a very aggrieved Sir Richard Westby, carrying a copy of the day’s edition of the Daily Press: “WHO is Mr Brown?” he demands, and turns his gaze in Brownie’s direction. “Are YOU Mr Brown?” the actor persists; “Are you the wretch that wrote this illiterate misrepresentation of my performance?” The thespian then reaches over and slaps the Reporter across both cheeks with the rolled-up newspaper he’d been carrying.

“Who is Mr Brown?”: (Left to Right) Crowley, Sir Richard, Gallagher and Brownie at the Daily Dress office

Brownie is stunned, and looks to Crowley to clarify the meaning of such an assault: “It means that we’re going to be sued!” the Boss laments.

Westby disagrees, however: “Nothing so maudlin, Sir.” And with a wry smile, adds: “This is a matter of honour, and I demand satisfaction!”

Crowley chortles knowingly, and asks Westby how much his “honour” will cost the newspaper: “His life… or mine,” the Englishman expounds. He then turns to Brownie, adding: “You, Sir, have the choice of place, time and weapons.” And with this, he throws a glove down on the desk in front of the beleaguered hack. “This, Sir, is my gauge. Pick it up or forever be branded a coward!”

Brownie is overcome: “A duel?” Crowley immediately picks up the glove and thrusts it into his employees hand with delighted, given that such a contest was like to cost the newspaper not a dime!

As Sir Richard stalks dramatically from the office, the Editor can hardly contain himself. He rushes over to his Printer, Pete (Jon Lormer), who he instructs to change the headline for the late edition to announce the news of Westby’s challenge to Brownie.

On publication of the ‘paper, Crowley receives a call from the local police department, to advise him that duelling is illegal, and that death as a result of such a contest would be viewed as murder. He’s then instructed, in no uncertain terms, to cease with any further mention of combat in future editions.

Crowley, however, advises the police lieutenant on the other end of the line that no crime had as yet been committed, and as such, he was free to print whatever he saw fit. On replacing the receiver, the Editor directs Gallagher to take a note to Sir Richard at the theatre, informing him that Brownie accepts his challenge.

Left: Gallagher delivers a note to Westby at the Theatre

When the boy arrives backstage at the Bijou, he’s directed to Westby’s dressing room, where he finds the actor running through a script. He hands over the message, which Sir Richard reads with delight. “Absolutely superb!” he bellows theatrically, realising that he and Crowley are both on the same page. As long as the story of the proposed duel continues, the more theatre tickets and newspapers will be sold – benefiting both parties in the process.

Crowley assigns Gallagher to stakeout the theatre and to report back on any unusual activity. Whilst watching Sir Richard perform from the wings, a young woman dressed all in green and with a veil covering her face, sweeps in and waits for the actor to leave the stage. As she lifts her veil, Westby immediately recognises her as “Katherine” (Victoria Shaw). He takes her hand and kisses it, saying that it had been ten years since they’d last met.

Right: Sir Richard meets his former fiancé, Katherine.

The young reporter immediately calls his Editor, who instantly envisages the headline: ‘Who Is The Lady In Green?’ Meanwhile, Katharine boards a carriage, which Gallagher follows to a large house on the outskirts of town. As the young lady climbs from the carriage, the driver – John (John Marley), spots the Copyboy and grabs him by the scruff of the neck.

Gallagher asks to know who the lady is and what is her connection to Sir Richard, but John remains tight-lipped. The boy suggests that since many women send Westby flowers and love notes, there’s no mischief in his asking a reasonable questions. “For those women to have their name printed in a paper does no harm,” John barks in reply. “But for her – scandal!”

On hearing their voices, Katherine rounds the coach to see what’s happening. Gallagher introduces himself, and after conversing with the young lady awhile, agrees not to publish her name or anything about her visit to the theatre.

At that moment a man’s voice calls out to Katherine and demands to know what’s going on. The voice belongs to her brother, Charles Van Raalte (Liam Sullivan), who requests to know what she’s doing out so late. When finally she responds, she declines to impart to him that she’d been to see Sir Richard. Instead, she tells him that she’d been unable to sleep and had asked John to take her for a drive. Meanwhile, the Coach Driver, who is still holding onto Gallagher with a vice-like grip, intimidates to the boy that a terrible end awaited him should any word of that night’s events pass his lips.

Back at the newspaper office, Crowley finds Gallagher rifling through the archive files, where he’s managed to unearth several old cuttings about the Van Raalte family. One of the headlines reads: ‘MRS J.P. VAN RAALTE DENIES ENGAGEMENT OF DAUGHTER’. Based on Sir Richard’s response to her at the theatre, it appears that he and Katharine had at one time been engaged to marry. When the boy is caught red handed by his Boss, he says nothing of his find – instead he declares that he’d merely been looking for a baseball result. Crowley, who’s angry to hear this, sends the young man back to the theatre to continue his assignment – telling him not to come back until he has some news.

At that moment, Charles Van Raalte arrives at the Daily Press office and asks to speak with Crowley. He demands that the paper drop the story of the duel between Sir Richard and Brownie, but Crowley refuses.

Meanwhile over at the theatre, Gallagher is watching the latter stages of the latest performance of Hamlet which, again, sees Sir Richard engaged in a sword fight to the death. As he steps back towards the stage curtain, his face is suddenly filled with pain and he staggers forward into the arms of the actor playing Horatio.

Left: “I am dead, Horatio”

When the audience and other players realise that Sir Richard’s death scene is for real, there are screams throughout the theatre. Gallagher, who is still concealed in the wings sees a man, wearing a black cloak and top hat, scurrying towards the Stage Door – his arm raised to cover his face. As he pushes past the young reporter, Gallagher makes a grab for him, but only succeeds in tearing something from the man’s cloak.

Directly, the boy rushes back to the Press Office, where he runs into Crowley who’s just leaving for the police station. The Editor informs Gallagher that Brownie has been arrested for Westby’s murder, so when the Copyboy divulges that he’s seen the killer, Crowley frogmarches the young man into the 7th Precinct with him.

Once inside the Station, Gallagher reveals to the officer in charge that he’d seen the killer as he’d made his escape, and although he was unable to identify him, he knew for certain it wasn’t Brownie. He then explains how he’d grabbed at the stranger and tore a fastener from the man’s cloak as he’d passed. Since Brownie had been at the opera that night, and is wearing a cloak similar to the one worn by the assailant, they check the Reporter’s attire and find the fastener intact. However, the Police Lieutenant informs Crowley that his officers have already questioned both the cast and crew at the theatre, and were satisfied that none of them had a motive to kill Sir Richard. In that case, they intended to lock Brownie up for the night.

On leaving the Precinct, Gallagher heads straight back to the theatre – entering the building through a first floor window. Although he’s initially startled by the sudden appearance of the Copyboy Pops, the Night Watchman and general dogsbody, recognises the lad and agrees to help him search for the missing fastener that had been torn from the murderers cloak.

Pop’s tells Gallagher that, after sweeping up the theatre after the final performance, all the garbage was put outside in the bins at the rear of the building. Happily, the boy is able to find what he’s looking for, but when he’s spotted by a police officer rummaging through the trash, he’s forced to make a run for it, back to the Daily Press Office.

While there, Gallagher takes another look at the newspapers he’d found earlier, and studies a sketch of Charles Van Raalte who he figures might be the person responsible for Sir Richard’s demise. After carefully placing the papers back in their rightful place, he beats a hasty retreat back to the theatre.

Once there, he begins to tell Pop’s of his suspicions, but is interrupted by the arrival of a carriage from which Katherine emerges. It soon becomes clear that Gallagher has arranged to meet her there, as she has her brothers’ cloak with her. The boy reminds the young lady of a line from Hamlet: “The play is the thing we’re in. I’ll catch the conscience of the king,” which the young lady acknowledges.

Gallagher explains to Katherine how the killer had dashed past him from behind the curtain directly after Westby was stabbed, and he shows her the fastener he’d torn from the cloak. When they check it against the cloak owned by Charles, they find that part of the fastener is missing, but Katherine can’t believe that her brother is responsible for such a heinous crime.

At that moment, John emerges through the Stage Door and confirms that Katherine is correct – Charles is indeed innocent, since it was HE who killed the actor.

The Carriage Driver says that he’d served both Katherine and he mother faithfully for many years, and that Sir Richard had been an evil man who’d brought disgrace and scandal down on the Van Raalte family. If it hadn’t been for Gallagher’s interference, he suggests, this might’ve been the perfect crime.

Katherine tells Gallagher to run, but John manages to block his exit, and forces the young man to about turn and take flight up on the gantry above the stage. Aloft amongst the ropes, pulleys and ladders, the boy swiftly climbs with John, knife drawn, in hot pursuit.

The day is saved, though, when Crowley arrives with the police, who are able to apprehend and arrest John. The Editor tells Katherine and his Copyboy that he’d found the papers Gallagher had unearthed earlier, and knew that Charles would be at the opera that night. On realising that the budding young reporter would’ve returned to the theatre, he’d contacted the police who’d headed down there… and just in the nick of time.

In Retrospect

Above: Peter with Edmond O’Brien in the scene at the Daily Press office

‘A Case of Murder’ was first screened in the United States in September of 1965, but unfortunately there is little evidence that it was ever shown anywhere else. One of the main reasons for this may have been Walt Disney himself who, it appears, had been concerned by some of the rather enthusiastic love-scenes between Peter and his Co-Star, Victoria Shaw, which he’d insisted were too explicit for a Disney production. Inevitably, most of these sequences were cut from the final print. However, the episode’s editor, Mr Jeffrey Hayden, did reveal how impressed both he and his colleagues had been by Peter’s portrayal of the vain and conceited player: “When I saw the first cut of ‘Gallagher’, I thought Peter was absolutely great,” he said. “Really, truly. The people who saw him in this picture flipped over his work – he came through like a comet blazing across the sky, so help me, I’m not kidding! “The Shakespeare was so beautifully done and, thankfully, the scene in the dressing room was left intact in the master shot because the Producer, Ron Miller, said he would not allow the cutter to touch the film, it was too beautiful a performance. My favourite scene, however, was in the newspaper office – ‘Who… is Mr Brown? Are you Mr Brown?’ Peter was just brilliant!”

On the set of the Jason King episode, ‘To Russia With… Panache’

This is a snapshot of what a typical day was like for Peter whilst he was working on the Jason King series.

Thursday, June 3^rd, 1971 – Six days into shoot

Left: Peter running through his lines on the set of Jason King

5.30am: Peter is woken by the sound of his alarm clock. He gets out of bed and takes a shower. He has breakfast, consisting of porridge and tea.

6.15am: He leaves his home in West London with his Afghan Hound, Yousef, to make the 13-odd mile journey by car to EMI-MGM Elstree Studios on Clarendon Road, Borehamwood.

7.30am: After first popping into his private dressing room (No. 515), Peter makes his way over to the make-up department, where Pamela Salem, who plays Alexandra in the episode, is already in the chair.

7.45am: Director, Paul Dickson, is supervising the preparation of the set on Sound Stage No.9. He calls for the five Stand-In’s who’re needed to set up the first scene of the day, which is the completion of a sequence started on the previous day (inside the Kremlin Committee Room). An actor by the name of Andrew Dempsey fills in for Peter, who is still in make-up.

8.30am: Peter, John Malcolm, Michael Poole, Stefan Gryff, Tutte Lemkow and Pamela Salem all arrive on the sound stage, following Mr Dickson’s Unit Call. The very first sequence involves John Malcolm in the role of Colonel Kolkow, plus six extras dressed as Russian guards.

9.30am: Peter makes a beeline across the studio floor for his regular morning cup of “Rosie Lee”, as the tea lady and her trolley appears on set.

9.45am: Stunt Coordinator, John Sullivan, arrives to rehearse a fight sequence involving Peter and Michael Poole. Two fight doubles – Paul Weston for Peter and Bill Cornelius for Poole, are introduced to the actors. A nurse is on hand both during rehearsals and the shoot in case an injury should befall any of the four men.

Right: Peter with his beloved Afghan Hound, Yussef in his dressing room at Elstree Studios

10.00am: A member of the Props Department arrives with a number of items for the set, including a briefcase, papers, handguns and blanks, mats, mattresses, breakaway furniture, handcuffs and a telephone. Peter, Michael Poole and their stunt-doubles run through the scene once more before the Director calls for quiet on the set.

12.45pm: The Unit breaks for lunch. Peter slips out of his suit and into more casual attire – which usually includes an old woollen jumper and either shorts or tracksuit bottoms. He takes Yousef for a run within the Elstree grounds. Once back in his dressing room, he picks out an album from his vinyl collection and places it on the turntable of his record player.

Peter uses the remainder of his lunch break to answer some mail, so he has the studio restaurant send his meal up to his dressing room on a tray. This includes sandwiches and a can of Coco-Cola.

A fax arrives for him from ATV regarding interview requests from Hazel Slater of Woman’s Own magazine, and from Margaret Pride of Reveille for the following Saturday – June 5^th.

2pm: The first scene of the afternoon involves Peter, Michael Poole and Milton Reed. Peter is required to wear a frogman’s suit, and props including a large packing case and a carrier full of gold-plated jewellery.

3.15pm: The Director calls a halt to filming whilst the 1^st Unit view the mornings ‘Rushes’ at Preview Theatre No.3. Meanwhile, the 2^nd Unit move onto sound stage No.8 to add additional scenes involving Jason’s Bentley.

3.30pm: An Inter-Departmental Communication is issued by Production Supervisor, R.C. Liles to Jeremy Summers, Cyril Frankel, Billy Herlthy and Gino Marotta, requesting that no one from the Studio contact Peter “For any reason” on the following day, when he’s not scheduled to work on the series.

4.00pm: The final scene of the day involves Peter, John Malcolm, Michael Poole, Pamela Salem, Elizabeth Counsell, and fight-doubles Bill Cornelius and Paul Weston. Two guns and a pair of handcuffs are requested from the Props Department.

Left: A candid shot of Peter relaxing in his dressing room during a break in filming

5.30pm: At the end of a gruelling day at the studio, Peter has recorded a grand total of 11 minutes and 30 seconds of screen time!

6.00pm: Peter leaves the studio for home with Youssef – looking forward to a well-earned weekend off.

Above: From trailer for Night of the Eagle

SCENES FILMED IN TAPLOW, BUCKINGHAMSHIRE

 

  Entrance to Taplow Court – a mid-19th Century mansion off Cliveden Road

 

  The eponymous stone eagle atop Hempnell College, and Taplow Court

  Above and Below: Forecourt of Taplow Court

 Professor Taylor and students leaving Hempnell College

   Front entrance of Taplow Court

Crossing Cliveden Road. In the background is the Gatehouse at Taplow Court

The Taylor’s house: Peter said that the property was derelict at the time of filming, and was “Full of cobwebs, spiders and other creepy-crawlies”.

At the door of the house: “While we were filming the scene where the house burns down, Janet (Blair) received a call from her husband in Hollywood. Her own home was burning!” Peter

Peter passes ‘Queen Ann’s House’ in the village of Taplow. Both the house and sign are still there

Crossing Clivenden Road near Taplow Court Gatehouse

Peter remonstrating with the truck driver near the junction of Cliveden Road and Berry Lane

SCENES FILMED IN HERTFORDSHIRE

Peter at the junction of Dagger Lane and Aldenham Road , near Haberdashers’ Aske’s School, Elstree, Hertfordshire

SCENES FILMED IN CORNWALL

Treyaron Bay: The house which doubled as Norman and Tansy’s holiday home is still there today, and stands just off Cape Cornwall Road to the west of Saint Just

Treyaron Bay

Above Left: Peter at the Taylor’s holiday home. In the distance is Kenidjack Castle

Below Right: Porth Ledden with Kenidjack Castle on the cliffs

Outside the Taylor’s holiday home: The landmark in the distance is a chimney stack built in 1864; a remnant of Cape Cornwall Tin Mine

Peter near Port Ledden

With grateful and sincere thanks to Andy Ellis for sharing some of his photos. Other pictures C/O The Hellfire Club

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