(Apologies for testing the stamina of my loyal (?) followers with another marathon post; this is a very rough, first draft of writing up of some of the research I am doing which has had a few strands, but which I hope to get published some day (!) on the ideological/cultural/political battles that led up to, and formed, Britain's first legal commercial radio stations, as well as –inevitably – some personal reflections. As usual, this was largely dictated on voice-recognition software, so any errors are the fault of the technology!!).
"No man should ever forget August 14, 1967". Thus began a status update yesterday of one of my Facebook friends, the radio presenter Roger "Twiggy" Day. Roger was one of the small number of DJs and crew who continued to work on offshore pirate radio as the Marine Broadcasting Offences Act (MOA) came into effect, making it illegal for a UK citizen to work for, supply, promote or in any way assist an unlicensed radio station.
The media loves anniversaries - they provide a wonderful peg on which to hang news items, programmes, indeed now whole themed evenings – and it loves anniversaries about itself most of all. Unsurprisingly, August 14th rarely passes without some special tribute programmes and events. So it was yesterday, when an Internet station Radio Six International - whose MD is Tony Currie - ran a whole series of documentaries and special programmes about the British offshore stations of 1964-67. They weren't the first commercial offshore pirate stations, even in Europe (Denmark's Radio Mercur in 1958 has that honour, as my radio/academic friends from Scandinavia rarely fail to emphasise to me when the subject comes up!), but the period from the launch of Radio Caroline in Easter 1964 through to August '67 is generally regarded as the 'classic' period. Radio Caroline – eventually there were two ships/stations, North and South - was set up by Irishman and entrepreneur Ronan O'Rahilly, who was fascinated (as we shall see) by US politics and culture, not least R and B music, and who was frustrated by the monopoly held by the BBC and the fact that the only alternative, Radio Luxembourg, had its air-time bought up by the four big record companies. There was no chance for an artist not on this roster – such as Georgie Fame, the young, white but black-sounding singer he was managing – from getting air-time and thereby gaining an audience. It is hard for the 'young folk' to understand now how limited, rationed and hard to access was music at this time.
The MOA did not -- contrary to constant misinformation on the subject - make the stations themselves illegal. Under international law they could not be, if they broadcast out of territorial limits. Indeed, O'Rahilly said the MOA established the right for the stations to broadcast and he alone defied the Act, announcing that the two services (Caroline North was given extra legality after Isle of Man parliament backed it, causing a constitutional tussle) would be able to continue by being supplied from the Netherlands -- which did not pass its own version of the Act for a further seven years - and by using international advertisers with bookings made by agencies outside the country, and he set up offices in New York and Amsterdam.
As August 14 ticked by, all the other stations, including Radio London - the commercially most successful, which had launched the careers of Kenny Everett, John Peel and Tony Blackburn and many others - all made their tearful and dramatic farewell broadcasts. On land, huge crowds welcomed the DJs as thy arrived back on the final tender. It was an extraordinary - perhaps the most extraordinary of all - day in Britain's media history. But even more extraordinary was when Radio Caroline (South) became Radio Caroline International on the stroke of midnight, with its defiant playing of We Shall Overcome and The Beatles' All You Need Is Love. The most dramatic moment though was provided by DJ Johnnie Walker, who simply stated: "We are now alone". This was an implicit and quite deliberate pairing of the defiant stand by Caroline with that of the whole British nation in May 1940, and indeed echoes almost to the word the caption on one of the most famous cartoons of the war from David Low, which was published after the fall of France and the invasion and subjugation of most of the rest of Europe, which read: "Very Well, Alone." The fact that the legislators and government had chosen August 15 to be the date on which the MOA would come into force - the same date in which World War II finally came to an end exactly 22 years ago before, with the surrender of Japan - did not go unnoticed, even though it was, surely, an administrative coincidence.
Johnnie Walker (left) and the 'Admiral' Robbie Dale were the only two DJs - plus a newsreader - who were on board Radio Caroline South and continued to broadcast after midnight on August 14th/15th 1967
Even more extraordinary, hyperbolic and bombastic was Walker's broadcast over stirring, martial music of the "Man's Fight For Freedom" broadcast, played many times over the next weeks, in which Walker fantasises that, just as the British nation eventually triumphed against all the odds in World War II, so pirate radio - having made its defiant stand through Radio Caroline - would eventually be welcomed onshore to ecstatic crowds. It was not to be that way, and Roger Day's comment on his Facebook status, wondering if the current government will repeal the MOA, was surely more in hope than expectation. August 14, 1967 was indeed the last day in which it was legal for a British citizen for broadcast what he wanted from wherever he wanted.
The two Caroline ships continued broadcasting until March 1968, when they were simultaneously raided and silenced by those who claimed tender fees had not been paid - pirate stations eventually closed, not by the military swooping in, but by a true act of piracy. In reality, as those on board had endured a terrible winter and literally gut-wrenching 24-hour tender trips for supplies, and occasional - eventually very occasional - leave onshore, it was something of a relief.
But this is where the wartime analogy becomes even more fascinating. If May 1940 equates to August '67, then March 1968 equates to the autumn of 1940, when Britain's cities began to be hammered in the Blitz, after the failure of the Luftwaffe to wipe out the RAF and thereby postponed Operation Sealion -- Hitler's plan for the invasion of Britain. But Caroline was not finished and would have its revenge in May/June 1970 - as discussed in one of my previous blog/essays - when it took its fight against the Labour government that had led to its closure into the heart of the general election campaign, with on and off - air propaganda against the then Prime Minister Harold Wilson in particular, who was betrayed as Chairman Mao. The wartime link was explicit once again, with a frequently broadcast reworking of the theme tune to the hugely popular sitcom on the wartime Home Guard (defence), Dad's Army, so that "Who Do You Think You Are Kidding Mr. Hitler" was changed to "…Wilson", and the following line "…if you think we're on the run" was changed to "….if you think free radio's dead".
The surprise win by the Conservatives, pledged to break the BBC's radio monopoly and introduce license commercial competition which they did in the Sound Broadcasting Act 1972, was then, in this equivalent, heroic narrative, El Alamein of October-November 1942. This battle wasn't just the turning point in the North Africa campaign but, as Churchill later said, before El Alamein we never won a battle; after it we never lost one. The other decisive turning point was the Battle of Atlantic, the only time Churchill said that he was afraid we would have to surrender, as we were in danger of running out of food and oil, such was the loss of tonnage and lives on the Atlantic convoys, but which the UK and its Allies finally managed to get on top of in May 1943. Again, the link with the starving out and difficulty of supplies to the pirate ships is obvious: the supply of materials from or via North America in World War 11; the supply (supposedly) of advertising revenue from agencies, as well as of records, from New York for the pirates.
In the period from there until October '73 (when the first ILR stations began, and equivalent in the wartime history of May 1945) the dream was kept alive, with many DJs and managers working for overseas stations and ad agencies, like an exiled Resistance, waiting for victory back home to allow their return. Others, like Johnnie Walker, for a while took non-radio jobs – Walker drove a truck for while, until eventually joining Radio 1– or worked in discos or the (bizarrely) United Biscuits Network, which was operated on a strict Top 40 basis, piped to the company's various factories in the UK, to keep the workers happy and productive. This provides another link to my thesis (and, as we shall see, I am not alone) of commercial radio being vitally important for the (ahem!) sea-change in British politics and economics that was to come by the end of the 1970s. Now, whilst it may be one thing to make that link, it may seem absurd and tasteless – perhaps even offensive – to equate the long and bloody struggle for national survival in World War II with the largely peaceful if keenly 'fought' campaign to establish legal commercial radio. However, if our culture and individual psyche works with and off myths, narratives and memories (shared and individual), then I think it is a link that can and should be made.
The summer of 1970 was the point in which the whole pirate radio theology, in reality and mystery entered my consciousness. The jamming of Radio Caroline in that period was when I was just turning into my teens. Why was it happening? Why was it such a threat? What was going on? Information was hard to find until, on one of my regular Saturday morning trips to the local library, I found a book which has been absolutely crucial in my whole political thinking. When asked about the book that changed everything, most socialists cite Robert Tressell's The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists -- currently being dramatised in a touring stage show -- while those on the (economic) right such as Margaret Thatcher will often credit Friedrich Hayek's The Road To Serfdom. Both of these are excellent books and, I think, anyone who is at all interested in political ideas should certainly read them both, but my literary light-bulb moment was, I have to confess, When Pirates Rule The Waves by Paul Harris – who certainly has a very interesting background and wide experience in international and defence matters. I didn't know it then but Harris was still an undergraduate when he wrote the book -- by longhand -- and even finding a publisher had proved difficult, as many were nervous about the Draconian reach of the MOA. But here, at length, and using a mixture of pacey narrative, extracts from House of Commons speeches, interviews, transcripts from broadcasts and much more, laid out the whole story of the pirates and why the 1960s Labour government had hated them so much. (In short, they loathed and feared anything they couldn't control.) The excuse for finally moving against the pirates was the shooting of Reg Calvert in June '66. It was one thing to import American –style programming to the UK, quite another its gangsterism.
The circumstances that surrounded and lead up to the shooting have all the ingredients for a blockbusting novel and movie. Furthermore, the key characters are now all dead, including the extraordinary femme fatale, Kitty Black, so can't sue. Now, if you are a writer and someone tells you all about this, you might think it's worthy of weaving in to a movie you are about to direct about the British pirate scene of the mid-1960s. Evidently not though if you are Richard Curtis, who - in an almost perverse manner - decided instead to distort, indeed fabricate, most of the key factors, for his abysmal popcorn movie The Boat That Rocked. On the real pirate stations there was very little outrageous behaviour on air, most of the output was quite bland and most of the major stations were run and funded by Americans – especially Texas (indeed one town in Texas as a fascinating if rather bizarre and uneven DVD – pictured left - emphasises), who wanted a quick return on their investment, a big profit and if possible to establish commercial stations on land so that they could make more money. As Johnnie Walker confirmed in a newspaper interview timed for the movie's UK launch, and who confirmed that Curtis either did no research or dismissed any that he read, there were certainly no competitions in which several hundred ladies were invited on board. The central conflict was not, as is strongly implied, between a Conservative government which was offended by this youthful rebellion, but a Labour one, which was most fearful of the idea of free enterprise in broadcasting and more widely in society, and especially it gaining credence and currency amongst the young. In other words, despite the top and tailing of the movie with captions giving the background to the narrative, thus framing it as a factional portrayal of the era, Pirate Radio, as it eventually was titled in the USA -- never a good sign when the distributors insist on a change of title halfway through its theatrical release -- is not only wrong in almost every aspect but missed out on the most dramatic and crucial incident of all.
Thus, it has taken a professor of history at Chicago University to write a novelised version, including the links between the stations with the London underworld and exploring the real tension that the pirates highlighted -- between socialistic monopoly and free enterprise competition. The novel is due to be released in November -- apparently it is currently at copy editing stage – and sounds like a cracking 'treatment' for a movie. But Curtis instead decided to centre the narrative on a coming-of-age/ teenage boy losing virginity saga (boy meets girl, boy loses girl to older rival while desperately searching for a condom; eventually has sex with girl and is rewarded on air with a rousing tub thumping applause from the other males on board). Sorry about the lack of warning of a plot spoiler, but this movie deserves to be slaughtered, because whilst there have been many other movies about people losing their virginity, Curtis has probably spoiled the chances of there ever being a movie that will truly tell the extraordinary tale of British pirate radio.
But if you think that was amazing, look at the story post August '67 and the heroic battle of Caroline and some other pirate ships to stay on air and the increasingly determined and harsh efforts by the State to silence them and to frighten off not just the broadcasters and advertisers/suppliers, but also the listeners. In fact, almost unbelievably, as discussed above, although the broadcasts might have been legal, listening to unlicensed stations had been against the law since the 1949 Wireless Telegraphy Act. The Post Office, who policed this aspect, said in 1967 that hey didn't intend to prosecute anyone caught listening to the pirate station, but they certainly did relentlessly go after anyone who promoted them in any way, even fining a listener in Liverpool who displayed a Radio Caroline car sticker. So by the time I really got into the pirate scene around 1970 it felt daring to be wearing my Caroline T-shirt. Note: not Radio Caroline, as that would be against the law, but simply the word 'Caroline' over a graphic of what was obviously a pirate radio ship, sailing against the sunset.
My interest deepened even further when, from the mid-1970s, Caroline and its much-loved offspring Radio Seagull, adopted an album format and the philosophy of Loving Awareness. I said that in the 1960s most of the serious pirate operators were not in it for the music or the rebellion, but to make a profit. But by this time Caroline for sure - and Ronan O'Rahilly definitely - had an alternative agenda for society. It was a fairly straightforward hippy-ish idea, that whilst the ideas of hate always seem to find currency and promotion, ideas of love didn't. So Ronan's idea was simply to keep pushing messages of love on the airwaves in the hope that, eventually, some sort of critical psychological mass would be reached. I expect it all sounds hippie drippy and hopelessly naïve, but as Brinsley Schwarz sang -- often on Radio Caroline -- What's So Funny 'bout Peace, Love and Understanding? Certain tracks were played almost every night -- Barclay James Harvest's Child of the Universe being a favourite, and one simply could Peace, which I've never been over to find online or elsewhere, and one that was literally played every night and at the same time, Tom Bell's version of What The World Needs Now, which mixes the usual vocal rendition of the song with actuality of the deaths and speeches of John and Robert Kennedy, and Martin Luther King, as well as a young child who is quizzed about what she knows about hatred and bigotry (of course s/he doesn't understand these 'concepts').
In fact, the link with the Kennedys and childhood innocence had provided the very name of Radio Caroline. Ronan O'Rahilly confirmed in an interview with Keith Skues, used in the latter's excellent Pop Went the Pirates (thanks for the signed/dedicated copy, Keith!!) that he decided on the name after seeing a photo spread in the Washington Post during a flight to America, in which JFK was pictured with advisers in the Oval Office. The then three-year-old Caroline Kennedy had crawled away into the room and got under the desk next to her Daddy, the President. Kennedy, instead of shooing her out and calling for nanny, halted the meeting for some minutes and played with her, to the visible exasperation of the 'suits' (who probably wanted to discuss starting World War III or something similar). This was, O'Rahilly explained on several occasions, exactly the image and philosophy he wanted for the station -- playfulness, challenging authority but in a non-violent way, and showing indeed that love was more important, and could triumph over, hatred. President Kennedy was assassinated some months before Radio Caroline came on the air, but O'Rahilly's obsession with 'Camelot' -- he had a large black marble bust of Kennedy in his office at Caroline House in Chesterfield Gardens in London - extended to brother Robert (Bobby), who even used to send out messages to Ronan to be broadcast on the station (this was recounted in an Arena Programme on BBC TV in 1991, but has been given remarkably little comment, UNTIL NOW!!). Ronan has written and directed a movie made entirely of archive material, called King Kennedy, for which he is trying to raise funds for editing and release. Once again -- I'm really sorry to go on about this -- but wouldn't you think that a filmmaker, who presumably has -- or his backers certainly have -- thoughts about the US market, might have picked up on this aspect as well?
This is the thing that can make me almost dizzy with excitement and why I love being an academic. Any aspect of life, culture and history, and the links between them, is always stranger, more fascinating than you could ever think once you start to 'dig'. When I tried to find out about the pirates there was almost nothing available aside from the Paul Harris book. There was nothing in the national press, because of course they could have been imprisoned for providing anything that might be construed as supporting them; the music press was a bit better, especially Record Mirror, for a glorious period at the beginning of the first ILR stations it was called Radio and Record Mirror and contained nuggets about the new, licensed stations. Of course, you could glean something from listening as I did, night after night (the other aspect which many others HAVE written about is that mixture of teenage hormones, night-time and radio listening). The radio pirates by the time I got into them were truly outlaws, out there on the High Seas, literally risking their lives for playing the music and keeping the idea(l) of unlicensed, uncensored speech alive and spreading a message of love and peace throughout western and northern Europe during the Cold War, in which we all faced instant annihilation with around four minutes' warning. I've also been reading Peter Hennessy's updated The Secret State about Britain's preparations for and plans for the aftermath of Armageddon, but I'll write another Blog about that soon – maybe!
An interesting piece, thanks. It looks like you and I came upon the pirates at about the same time, with RNI rather more on our radar than Big L or Caroline. There's an interesting story there, around spying, which you may have come across.
I'm a bit uncomfortable about parallels being drawn with World war 2, but I see your point!
It was RNI as I recall who constantly played "Peace", a song by someone called "Peter". (I think they renamed themselves "Radio Caroline" for the duration of the election campaign). A friend of mine has a copy. Nice song. My take on the background to the pirates is in my MA Dissertation. If you are interested it is at http://homepage.ntlworld.com/patrick.home/dissertation.pdf
Thanks for a good read!
Patrick
Posted by: Patrick Woodward | August 15, 2010 at 08:49 PM
Yes, Patrick, you are quite right about the short-lived name change from RNI to Caroline during the 1970 general election. I had made that point before and didn't want to repeat myself too much! As for 'Peace' - I had thought that WAS when Caroline proper returned, but you may be right that I am thinking of the RNI period. Anyway, thanks very much for your comments and I'll certainly read your diss' with great interest.
Posted by: Richard Rudin | August 15, 2010 at 10:08 PM
Hi Richard,
I can explain to you why 'Radio Pirates' is 'Rather bizarre and uneven' if you care to e-mail me, but I'm afraid I can't post the reason in a blog!
Radio London Webmaster
Posted by: Radio London Webmaster | August 16, 2010 at 06:24 PM