Tis Indeed Magic! ALAN HAYES

PREFACE tis indeed magic! ALAN HAYES

Catweazle is a remarkable television series, one which captured the hearts of its audience right from its very first episode, broadcast at 5.30pm on 15th February 1970. The weekly Sunday afternoon adventures of Catweazle, an 11th century Saxon wizard who, in trying to evade a unit of Norman soldiers, finds himself accidentally catapulted through time to modern day England, were every bit as enchanting as his spells. A fish out of water – or ‘watter’ as he would surely say – in a land that is familiar and yet strange, each episode would see him confronted with some modern invention which he would struggle to comprehend. Fortunately, on each of his visits to the 20th century he was befriended by a young boy, first Edward Bennet (who preferred to be called Carrot) at Hexwood Farm, and then Cedric at the posh Kings Farthing mansion. These youngsters would each become Catweazle’s protector and tutor in the ‘new magic’ as well as his friend. Two series of 13 family-friendly episodes were made by London Weekend International for ITV, and screened in 1970 and 1971 respectively. In both runs, Catweazle’s resolve to return to his own time was a common theme. Some viewers came later to Catweazle by way of repeat runs or home entertainment releases. Others discovered the show by reading the novels, annuals, storybooks or the comic strips in TV Comic and Look-In magazines, or by finding the show through other means. Catweazle was also a great success internationally: not only was it popular across Europe, being screened in Belgium, Czechoslovakia, Germany, Iceland, Ireland, the Netherlands, Norway, Spain and Sweden, its charm and originality also took it further afield, to Australia, Japan, Malaysia, New Zealand and even Nicaragua. Audiences fell in love with Catweazle wherever it surfaced. Many viewers became lifelong fans of the show and of its stars and writer Richard ‘Kip’ Carpenter. This book is as much about those fans, their memories, opinions and exploits, as it is about Catweazle and its legacy. Tis Magic! Our Memories of Catweazle brings together a selection of essays written by fans of the series, an exciting mix of professional writers and talented amateurs, who share their recollections and personal experiences of Catweazle – what it means to them, and how it touched their 1 lives and, in many cases, inspired them to do interesting things. One such example is how two fans collaborated to create a Catweazle fan club that still runs today. You will read of its creation within these pages. Many of the writers featured in Tis Magic! are fan club members and you will also have the opportunity to read their recollections of club events. Proceeds from the publication of this book will be donated to fan club funds to help them pay for website charges and other expenditure. If you are interested in joining the club, you can read about membership benefits and apply to join online at www.catweazlefanclub.co.uk. Some contributors to this collection are less familiar with the series, or discovered it much later than most, and I’ve been keen to include these pieces as they demonstrate that Catweazle is a series that works not only for people who first saw it a long, long time ago, but also for those who are finding it for the first time in the 21st century. Richard Carpenter’s glorious creation has come to be recognised as a landmark of children’s television – and quite rightly so. Indeed, it received the 1971 Writers’ Guild of Great Britain award for Best Children’s Drama Script. It’s a pitch-perfect show that appeals to the whole family and does not speak down to its younger viewers, something that is hardly a given with children’s television of any era. Instead, it credits its audience with intelligence, amuses and educates, always in an entertaining fashion. Catweazle marked Carpenter’s debut as a television writer, which makes its perfection all the more remarkable. Prior to turning to writing, he had been an actor, with notable TV roles in Knight Errant Limited, The Citadel, Emergency Ward 10, Compact and The Bowmans (a 1961 Hancock episode, alongside Tony Hancock). Today, though, he is best remembered for his writing. He enjoyed further television successes in the wake of Catweazle, with classics such as The Ghosts of Motley Hall, Dick Turpin and Robin of Sherwood coming from his pen. Many of his series are available in the UK on DVD and / or Blu-ray from Network: https://networkonair.com Equally, a significant part of Catweazle’s success can be attributed to its cast. The role of Catweazle was written with Geoffrey Bayldon in mind and over time his performance has been acclaimed as his signature role. A fine character player, he had featured in the prestigious BBC adaptations of Shakespeare’s An Age of Kings in 1960 and Dickens’ Nicholas Nickleby eight years later. He also made an array of guest appearances in TV and movies

2 including one as ‘Q’ in the chaotic James Bond film Casino Royale (1967). He had also nearly been cast as the first Doctor Who in 1963, but the part ultimately went to film veteran William Hartnell; you will read later that Geoffrey was quite sanguine about missing out. No-one could have played the role of Catweazle quite as Geoffrey did, with many of the wizard’s mannerisms and vocal splutterings being of his own invention. Bayldon’s co-star in the first series is just as impeccable. Fifteen-year-old Robin Davies was chosen to play Carrot and very quickly disproved the old adage that in show business it was a mistake to work with children. Effortlessly natural on screen, Davies was fresh from playing a regular role as gang leader Steve in the Children’s Film Foundation film series The Magnificent Six and ½ and had also worked occasionally with comedians Eric Morecambe and Ernie Wise in the ATV series Two of a Kind. He had trained from 1966-1969 at the Ada Foster Stage School in London, making his television debut in the BBC soap opera The Newcomers while still enrolled as a student there. He had also featured in Lindsay Anderson’s controversial feature film If… (1968). Bayldon and Davies were as fine a partnership as the equally unlikely but legendary pairings of Laurel and Hardy, Blackadder and Baldrick, Wood and Walters, or Batman and Robin. In the minds of generations of fans, Catweazle and Carrot were an inseparable double act. However, their partnership was sadly dissolved after just 13 episodes when the executives at London Weekend International decided that, in order to market the series even more successfully abroad – and particularly in the United States of America – they wanted Richard Carpenter to rethink and retool Catweazle and present an England that was less colloquial and more accessible to foreign audiences. Carpenter disagreed with their thinking, but, as a writer just starting out, he did what they asked. The farm setting was cast aside and the superb Davies was dispensed with, along with the likeable regulars Charles ‘Bud’ Tingwell (Carrot’s father) and Neil McCarthy (Sam, the farmhand). Catweazle and his faithful familiar, Touchwood the toad, were the only characters to be called back for more. In Catweazle’s second year, our hero would find himself ensconced in a run-down, disused railway station, Duck Halt. Nearby is Kings Farthing, a manor house which is home to Lord and Lady Collingford (Moray Watson and Elspet Gray respectively) and there he meets his new young friend,

3 their son Cedric, played by Gary Warren. The sixteen-year-old actor had, like Robin Davies before him, already met with some considerable success in the business, notably taking a prominent role in Lionel Jeffries’ 1970 feature film adaptation of E. Nesbit’s celebrated novel The Railway Children. He had also figured in the BBC Television police drama Z Cars in a four-part story in 1967, appeared in single plays for the BBC (Theatre 625: The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists) and ITV (ITV Playhouse: Lucky for Some), and had also worked with comedians Charlie Drake and Brian Rix. His performances as Cedric are well-judged and endearing, though arguably they lack the natural, organic air Davies had been able to imbue in Carrot, entirely due to the unreal setting and characters that had regrettably been forced upon the writer. The supporting actors in Catweazle were also all at the top of their game. In addition to the regular troupe, which also features Carry On film star Peter Butterworth and veteran actress Gwen Nelson, there was also a cavalcade of famous names and faces to be seen from week to week. Over the course of the 26 episode run we were introduced to Hattie Jacques as a colourful fortune teller, Peter Sallis as a bookish museum curator and Brian Wilde as a well-meaning but sorely tested vicar, and were also treated to the likes of Patricia Hayes, Kenneth Cope, Graham Crowden, Hilda Braid, John Ringham and Aubrey Morris and more besides… This was a children’s television show with a cast and crew that knew the profession inside out and had a wealth of experience working in television, theatre and film – and it shows in the product. Half a century after it was first shown, Catweazle remains a joy to watch, as no doubt those discovering the series for the first time in November 2019 care of the wonderful reruns on Talking Pictures TV will quickly realise. It somehow remains relevant and entertaining in its own right, more than just a nostalgic experience for those who saw it when young or lived through the era in which it was made. Interestingly, although it is held in an unchanging form on celluloid, our perceptions of it ebb and flow with the passing years. What was then quite possibly Kip’s salute to his childhood is for many people now an ode to their own. Our childhood memories have become intertwined with the adventures of Catweazle, Carrot and Cedric, which we watched, enjoyed and sometimes even played out with friends in our gardens, the park or the school playground. The series’ vibrant

4 characters and its themes of loyalty, friendship, magic and adventure entranced us and influenced our thinking, our values and our way of life. In the years of my youth, I identified first with the child characters in Catweazle – experienced the stories through their eyes – and found Catweazle himself captivating if maybe a bit dim, since he seemed so hopelessly adrift in the present day. How could he not understand a light switch, a car or a telephone – after all, the five-year-old me could, and yet this man was much older than me. It’s only as I grew older that I really came to understand the exquisite conceit of presenting children with a character who at times was far less aware of his surroundings than they were – and who was someone for Carrot and Cedric to take responsibility for, effectively acting as the old man’s teacher and guide. Of course, Catweazle had skills of his own, magic know-how, which the children were keen to learn – not that they ever entirely believed in it. As viewers, we were also intrigued that it might be possible to cast a spell or mix a potion that would help with our maths homework, make the school week pass more quickly or cure an illness… Or guarantee a third series of Catweazle, which of course sadly never happened despite Kip’s intention to take the show back to its roots and Hexwood Farm. What a missed opportunity! Catweazle captures the long, balmy summer holidays of youth, when time ticked by at a different rhythm. Those elastic weeks were full of opportunities for fun, adventure and discovery. The series is set in an England that no longer exists and maybe never did. The Avengers, another world-beating British TV series of the era, had its ‘Avengerland’ – a fictional, idealised England populated by eccentrics and other larger-than-life figures – and Catweazle is not far removed from this concept. The apparently quite different worlds of Hexwood Farm and Kings Farthing and the eccentric characters that our heroes encounter in their exploits are clearly cut from much the same cloth as their equivalents in the spy-fi world of Steed and Mrs Peel. Catweazle’s world has the colourful vibrancy of Avengerland but is arrived at through the prism of a child-like imagination. As we return to the series, year after year, our identification point shifts. I can’t speak for anyone else, but in my mid-fifties I still don’t feel like an adult. I guess that few people really do, at least not how they expected to feel as adults (i.e. completely confident, infallible, wise and fearless). I still see

5 my younger self in Carrot and Cedric when I watch an episode, but now I find myself more and more embodied in the character of Catweazle. This isn’t because my wardrobe is full of raggedy old robes (trust me – I’ve only got one or two!), but because of something that affects us all: we’ve all been falling through time to the present day. People of my generation have witnessed changes happening around them at an alarming rate – arguably at a pace unmatched in history – and we often fail to keep up with developments, particularly technological ones. Our modern world is increasingly confusing and complex. Our homes are now full of electronic machines which are connected to each other without wires, as if by magic. Aren’t the smartphones and other devices that we today struggle with – and which young people operate without breaking a sweat – as confusing to us as the landline telephone was to Catweazle? I find myself looking on, wide-eyed in disbelief when the latest bit of ‘smart’ kit is explained to me, the process of understanding being something that I used to do. Over the course of a lifetime, do we start out as a Carrot or a Cedric and gradually become progressively more like Catweazle? The present day me is Catweazle, befuddled and perplexed in the world that I live in, feeling like I’ve woken up in another dimension. Maybe it’s just me… Regardless, do permit me to bid you welcome to the wonderful world of Catweazle as I hand you over into the capable hands of this book’s excellent writers. Please travel through time with care, cast spells wisely, be kind to your familiar, watch out for the Normans, and for goodness sake stop playing with that light switch!

***

During the time in which this book was being compiled, I am sad to say that my wife Alys and I lost a very dear, close friend.

Stephen Watts, my brother in magic, fun and often sublime silliness, passed away suddenly and unexpectedly on 27th April 2019 at the age of 55.

He was very definitely a wizard of the new magic; if there was a gadget, he had to have it. We often thought that he had more telling bones than was

6 really necessary for one person. He also had a fondness for black wheels! He was delightful, inspirational and witty – and we loved him.

It is with that love that I’ve dedicated this book to his memory, and to those of Geoffrey, Kip, Robin and all others who made Catweazle such a marvellous and vibrant part of our lives.

Alan Hayes, Editor

PATHWAYS Carol Barnes

Carol Barnes is co-founder of The Catweazle Fan Club (www.catweazlefanclub.co.uk) which she has been running since 2002, enjoying wonderful times with both its members and Catweazle’s amazing cast and writer. Now retired, Carol worked in reprographics for a pharmaceutical company, designing, creating and printing a variety of materials. She also ran a home print shop, taking on work for local clients. She loves the countryside and nature and belongs to many conservation trusts. She has two wildlife ponds in her garden which support a colony of great crested newts, along with frogs and toads (naturally!), and has laid out her garden for the good of the birds, bees and butterflies. She has a Norfolk Terrier called Bramble – a loveable rascal in a brown coat. Remind you of anyone???

I fell in love with Catweazle from the very first episode. I was a youngster who loved the outdoors, nature, climbing trees, making dens and did lot of pretending to be this or that or in this situation or that; make-believe was a part of living to me– so I positively immersed myself in Catweazle! I wanted to meet its fabulous, eponymous hero and have him as my friend and make magic and have fun in the woods. I would have killed to have had a Castle Saburac of my own. My own cave was an empty coal bunker in my back garden in which I stowed my own treasures and dangled an electrickery torch from the lid of the bunker. I would climb inside and stay there all afternoon, armed with a couple of peanut butter sandwiches and a drink. Quite often, my dad would take Mum and me “out for a ride in the country” on Sundays and now I was saying that I’d only go if we got back in time for Catweazle! Catweazle favoured the kids not the grown-ups; he always managed to hoodwink the adults – and kids love that. Carrot was his special friend and their secret bond and companionship was very special and I felt every bit of it. On top of this was, of course, Geoffrey Bayldon. He was perfect – suitably odd, with remarkable expressions and was comical without even 8 trying! Then there were the sulks and the mishaps – all wonderful viewing and I lapped it up each Sunday. Certain parts stuck with me – like the episode with him in the bath, losing the soap and shifting down the bath! Another was that simple wink at the end of the episode; it always made me feel warm inside, maybe because I imagined he was winking at me and no- one else. There have been some wonderful and evocative pieces written about this remarkable series and they are so true. There were many TV series I enjoyed watching, but they never left me feeling bereft when the series ended! They never gave me that feeling of sadness at my ‘friend’ leaving me. They never left me with such wanting for the return of another series. The re-run of Catweazle was the only reason I paid out for Sky in the late ’90s. I had previously vowed that I would not be blackmailed into forking out money to watch my nation’s sports games (and I was a big sports fan), but that was before the Saturday morning when I was with my mum in the supermarket and flicked through a TV magazine there. Now, you know what a TV magazine is like – it’s just a mass of words, adverts and numbers in black print! However, as uncanny as it may sound, in all that blur of black print, a name just jumped out – nay, screamed out at me – Catweazle. I couldn’t believe it. It was totally unexpected to see it at all, let alone amongst all the other lookalike print! To realise that I could watch the series all over again was overwhelming and within the week – I kid you not – I had signed up for not only Sky, but also a new TV and video recorder so that I could record it (it was on very early in the morning, so I didn’t watch it as it was aired). It also meant that, once I’d recorded it all, I could watch Catweazle as often as I wanted! The daft thing was, after I had recorded the episodes, I somehow couldn’t bring myself to watch it. I don’t know whether it was because I wanted to save it and know that I still had it to look forward to (a bit like leaving your favourite bit of food until last!) or because I was afraid that Catweazle would not live up to my wonderful memories, something that so often happens when viewing old series after so much time has passed. I need not have worried. When I plucked up the courage to watch my Catweazle recordings, not only did I find it to be as wonderful as I remembered it, but in many ways it was even better! I watched it in a different way, since I was, of course, no longer a child, but the beauty of

Catweazle is that it was made to be enjoyed by all the family. I also picked up on many more jokes and clever lines which I probably missed the first time around. It occurred to me at around this time that I should write to Geoffrey, because I wanted him to know that I had remembered him from my childhood and that Catweazle would always be in my heart. I wrote a letter and also sent him a beautiful poem by Patience Strong called Pathways. It speaks of how memory builds pathways that lead through the heart down quiet, gentle trails towards the people who mean the most to us in our lives. Although I probably didn’t realise just how prophetic her words were at the time, I could see even then that Catweazle was leading me on a path. It would be a pathway of fun and friendship and of delight, in the company of other people who shared a common feeling and love, as well as a personal pathway which brought me out of myself when I helped form The Catweazle Club. But hold yer horses! That’s for later… It was late 2001 when I got my first computer. I had sisters in South Africa and I thought that this contraption would make getting in touch much easier and also make us all feel closer to each other despite the physical distance between us. There was also another reason why I was excited about getting a computer… Someone had told me there was a thing called ‘Google’ on it and that you could find out anything about anything by using this remarkable search engine! Naturally, and without hesitation, the first word I googled was “Catweazle”! I was so thrilled to see pictures of the series in the search results. I smiled instantly as they triggered a succession of happy memories. Google also found me a couple of private websites on the Internet, produced by Catweazle devotees. I was so delighted because I honestly thought that I must be the only 45-year-old who was still pining after Catweazle! One particular website had been set up by a chap called Gary Bowers, and there was something about it that made me sign his message board (not something I usually do). I didn’t only sign it – I went into detail about my love for Catweazle and that I had all the videos, etc. Well, I immediately received a reply from Gary. He told me that he had nearly died, and, thinking that he may not make it, wanted to relive his memories of Catweazle, a show which he loved, and share his passion for it with other people. He ended up by saying that he was having a family Catweazle

10 weekend and was missing a video. Could I please help him out? He gave me his phone number and everything started from there. I sent him a copy of the video in question and we chatted regularly on the telling bone! One day Gary told me that he was getting quite a few visits to his website. I was pleased to hear this news and asked him if he thought there might be a sufficient number of fans out there for us to start a Catweazle club? I told him that I worked in reprographics and could get stuff printed, design and print membership cards, and make things like badges and car stickers. We could print a few bits and pieces and then see how things went. Gary said, “Let’s try it!” and away we went. We charged £1.50 for life membership, and for that small fortune, you got a printed membership card, a car sticker and a handmade badge emblazoned with the slogan “Bring Back Catweazle”. I wrote to series creator Richard Carpenter (whom I soon came to know by his nickname ‘Kip’) and Geoffrey, explaining what we were doing and why we were doing it. I also asked for their approval and whether we could be the official recognised Catweazle fan club. Kip came back and said, “Wonderful!” Geoffrey, meanwhile, wished us good luck and said that he admired what we were trying to do, even if “It isn’t my scene.” Little did he know then that he would end up loving his yearly visits to Hexwood! Soon afterwards, Kip contacted me again and said, “I am having a load of BBC people coming round. Can you do me some of those badges to give out to them?” I was naturally delighted to do so. From then onward, we contacted each other regularly about how things were going, or if I wanted his permission to do something within the club. He was thrilled – as were we – that the membership was growing at quite a pace! Gary had been in contact with Geoffrey before I had made his acquaintance. (Geoffrey had nicknamed Gary and his wife Jan “The Battling Bowers” because of their fight to get Catweazle back on the box!) One day, I heard from Gary that Geoffrey was not feeling well and so I said I would send him something to cheer him up! I wasn’t sure what his tipple was, so I sent him a range of snifters in a wooden box. A few days later, on a Saturday morning, the phone rang: “Is that Carol?” came a familiar voice. “Yes,” I said. “It’s Geoffrey Bayldon here.”

“There’s no need to tell me,” I said. “I’d know that voice anywhere!” Geoffrey laughed and said, “Well, I received this parcel and, upon opening it, what treasures I beheld! It was very kind of you and it’s all gone!” I said, “Well, you are most welcome. I do hope you are feeling better.” He replied to say that he was indeed and, “By the way, my tipple is whisky.” “I’ll remember that in future,” I said. Once we had made contact, there was no going back, and I am proud to say that if he wanted anything or wanted to find out something or even find out where or what something was, he used to phone me. Then, one day, he said, “When are you coming up? I want to meet you!” “Oh, you don’t want to see me,” I replied. “It’s lovely talking to you and I don’t want to frighten you off by having you meet me!!!” “Nonsense,” he said. “I want you to come and see me.” So I did, and he was wonderful. I was nervous, but he immediately put me at my ease and made me a cup of tea. I remember thinking, “I am sitting here having a lovely time with a hero of mine and he is making me tea!” It was such a lovely afternoon; he was so sweet and when it was time to go, he walked me to my car, gave me a kiss and said, “You must come again.” I naturally said, “I would love to.” From that day forward, we became very good friends. I can’t tell you how proud I felt when I phoned him up and his friend Craig answered and I could hear Geoffrey saying in the background, “Is that my Carol?” or “Is that loveliness?” It meant so much to me. I was so proud of him and what he had achieved during his career. I didn’t just become close to Catweazle, more importantly I became close to Geoffrey Bayldon. I remember one occasion when I went out for the day with Geoffrey, Craig and his friend David to Hampton Court. It was a beautiful day and Geoffrey was mucking about around the statues and pulling faces. We walked along a path in the grounds by the Thames when, all of a sudden, Geoffrey veered off to the right and ran under a tree! “What the hell’s he doing now?” we said, looking at him. He gestured up into the tree and pouted his lips. Right above his head

12 was a huge ball of mistletoe! So, I ran over, gave him a peck on the cheek and dragged him back! I will never forget that day in particular, because he was still then the sprightly and comical Geoffrey I knew and loved. It was also on that day that he bought a gift for me in the Hampton Court gift shop – a little bear dressed as a jester, which I cherish to this very day. We remained good friends for the rest of his life and again I was proud to be there for him when he needed me the most. Geoffrey gave so much to me, both through Catweazle and later when I came to know him as an equally magical friend, that I was so pleased to be able to repay him in the later years of his life. Little did I know that I would have to arrange his funeral and put him to rest. The Catweazle Fan Club has been wonderful in so many ways. It has given fans a platform to discuss and relive their memories. It’s given them a chance to learn more about the series, has brought people together, and given us all a chance to keep our memories of Catweazle alive while encouraging others to watch it and become fans as well. Perhaps the most wonderful thing the club has done is to show Kip, Geoffrey, Robin Davies (Carrot), Gary Warren (Cedric), Moray Watson and Elspet Gray (Lord and Lady Collingford) just how much we loved them and how much Catweazle means to us. Robin was especially thrilled. His reaction to his first visit to our Catweazle weekend was wonderful. He was practically in tears when he pulled me to one side by the marquee and said, “I had no idea that I would get this kind of reception.” He later phoned me up and said, “I loved being there and I’m sorry I had to go early, but I am definitely coming again next year.” When he was diagnosed with cancer, he said that one of his last wishes was to come again to the Catweazle weekend. To think what he was going through and yet he still wanted to come… it was so humbling. He told me this one afternoon when I was at work; he sounded awful. He said, in between deep breaths, “I am as bald as a coot, but I am determined to be there with you in June.” When we said goodbye, I put the phone down, sat at my desk in the office and wept. I knew he wouldn’t make it and it was a cruel and devastating realisation. Sadly, I never spoke to him again. Less than a decade down the line, we have sadly lost almost all the regular cast and behind the scenes people who made Catweazle such a

13 wonderful creation: Robin, Kip, Elspet, Moray and Geoffrey… However, I am so pleased that we were able to show all these people just how much we loved and appreciated them. If the club had achieved nothing else throughout its existence, that one thing was “magic” in itself and has more than made our endeavours worthwhile. Kip also said that, of all the conventions he went to, he loved coming to our Catweazle ones more than any other. Geoffrey came every year after the second one, and it had actually been Geoffrey who persuaded Robin to come along. Geoffrey always made me laugh, because after each weekend he would say, “That’s it – no more!” Then, as June approached the following year, he would ask when it was and that he was coming! This club is, I feel, unique. We are not like others because we don’t have anything much to feed on. It’s not like it is with Doctor Who, or any other TV series fan club that has masses of material and cast members and other guests to keep them going. We don’t have series after series to write about. This club is purely and simply built on and around love and wonderful memories that Catweazle fans want to keep going. Many people enjoy belonging to clubs and societies that remind them of wonderful times past that are etched into their minds. Doing so brings back many varied thoughts and feelings and establishes connections with others who share the same interests. In the case of Catweazle, our club evokes memories of times of make-believe, friendship and innocence. Long may it continue and long may our fans stay together and keep all those brilliant people in our thoughts and minds – and have fun doing so. Yes, Catweazle was and is special. It was magic and as much as I enjoyed it in my younger days, it has remained with me throughout my life and continues to give me great pleasure to this day. The happy memories it brings me and its capacity to touch others is without equal. It is a gift that simply keeps giving – and which, fifty years after it all began, is still bringing together the Brothers and Sisters in Magic.

A FORCE OF NATURE KELVIN DICKINSON

Kelvin Dickinson started out as a graphic designer when DTP was the new frontier of print media. An effective, albeit reluctant, proof- reader, he can’t seem to find the ‘off’ switch when trying to relax with a good book. He co-wrote the 2011 stage play ‘Paint It White’, based on the autobiography by Gary Edwards, a fanatical Leeds United supporter, which went down well in the home town. Along with 160+ reviews on Amazon, two short stories have also found their way into anthologies via the same location. A lover of science-fiction and classic 60s TV, he is a happily married yet unapologetic nostalgist with a streak of black humour still to be fully appreciated by his wife of 30 years. Currently designing a range of greetings cards, including the first ever for sociopaths and narcissists. And why not?

There’s no need to be too hard on the 1970s. Taste has taken time out from every decade before and since, still managing to ring in sick with alarming frequency even now. Especially now, when I think about it. My theory is that if you have to blame anything from that particular era, then blame the flared trouser epidemic that filtered down from the glam rock brigade and into, amongst other things, the secondary schoolwear of the day, a so-called fashion-statement that bypassed all levels of rationality, understanding and visual appeal. By the advent of Punk Rock (and a far happier, narrower leg arrangement), I swore that torture by almost any means would be preferable to putting a pair of those sods on again. Now that’s cleared up, let’s return to early 1970 and Sunday teatime. Possibly the worst part of the day on the worst day of the week, Sunday teatime was that awful hinterland where thoughts were slowly turning to the following morning and, ugh, school. Distractions were practically non- existent in those days. Even an extra-thick slice of Arctic Roll couldn’t deflect (for long, at least) the disheartening feelings beginning to wash over me as I retreated into myself and became the familiar, monosyllabic creature of early evening-through-to-bedtime misery. Okay, primary school wasn’t quite that bad; it’s probably better to view the above as a dry run for what was to come just a few, painfully short, years later. 15

1970. The TV schedules for a Sunday evening were not especially child- friendly and choice was limited to just three channels. By any standards, that was just not fair, not fair at all, so totally, unbelievably, NOT FAIR. At least not to a normal seven year old boy – if, indeed, there was ever such a thing. Still, any new adventure series on ITV was worth a look and Catweazle looked… different.

BASIC PLOT SUMMARY: Catweazle is an eccentric 11th century wizard who’s being pursued by Norman soldiers through the English countryside for the crime of witchcraft. He evades them by jumping into a large pool of deep, presumably very muddy, water and re-appears in 1970, having time- travelled in the process.

THE FOLLOWING IS WHAT I ACTUALLY REMEMBER FROM THE TIME OF CATWEAZLE’S ORIGINAL BROADCAST:

1) The rather cool opening titles, animation which bore a strong resemblance to Arthur! and the Square Knights of the Round Table (a very clever Australian(!) cartoon series that was a cut above the usual Hanna-Barbera stuff).

2) It was shot on film throughout and, because of that, appeared glossier than a lot of videotaped offerings; despite seeing it in black- and-white at the time, the difference, to me at least, was glaring. (Note: the ‘technical’ terms I now use without thinking weren’t a part of my younger-self’s lexicon, but I instinctively understood the form – something that has been both a blessing and a curse over the years, especially when it comes to spotting bloopers and glitches in TV shows from the archives).

3) This strange wizard bloke from the Dark Ages had a seriously low level of personal hygiene (hilarious – unlimited potential for fart gags which, disappointingly, never actually occurred. He was still very funny, however, when simply running around in a flap and performing rubbish spells, which occurred a lot).

4) All modern technology, including electricity (‘electrickery’), the telephone (‘telling bone’), kettles, tractors, light bulbs and jet planes, were the results of sorcery to his time-travel-addled mind.

5) Returning home was a recurring subplot throughout. And being able to do so using magic to fly back through time was the means by which Catweazle (almost) never succeeded. On so many occasions it seemed that “nuthing” ever worked.

6) I just loved that accent, wasn’t quite sure why at the time, just that it was unpretentious and devoid of plums.

7) Each episode was populated with easy-to-categorize characters who always managed to provide the requisite humour, comfort and (mild) peril needed to keep younger viewers like me watching.

Things, as they say, were beginning to look up (despite it still being Sunday teatime, dammit).

THE FOLLOWING IS WHAT I HAVE SINCE CONCLUDED THROUGH RE-VIEWING, EXTRAPOLATION AND, ER, ALL THE REST:

Catweazle had far more going for it than I realised at the time, a simple fact and beyond question today. For the most part (certainly the part that was visible on screen), it was down to just one man: Geoffrey Bayldon. Sadly now no longer with us, his captivating performance showed from the very start that he owned the character and was a true force of nature, even when cowering or hiding under a table or simply running around in that previously mentioned flap. I think the two young actors, Robin Davies and Gary Warren, did their best but probably had the hardest job due to their relative inexperience, portraying characters I was meant to identify with but appearing, at times, a little awkward and exposed in the company of England’s wackiest spell-wrecker. It wasn’t detrimental to either series, however, more a part of the overall charm. And (starts to whisper in reverential tones) I now completely get why Bayldon was considered for the role of the first Doctor in 1963; it would be interesting to speculate about such things but, shhh, no… verboten! Then there’s that face to consider. Not strictly your ‘Leading Man’ physiognomy but a boat with a proper story to tell, if given the opportunity (those close-ups were always revealing). The underlying Yorkshire accent was never forced but used instead to project a subtle warmth – a source of particular satisfaction, I would imagine, for anyone fortunate enough to be from God’s own County (ahem!). Character roles were therefore positively enhanced by his ability to 17 bring out far more than the script page could ever describe (for example, I have a soft spot for Hammer’s Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed because even the lesser characters have great moments and Geoffrey Bayldon’s sceptical police doctor is no exception). So, here are just some of the films and TV shows I particularly like and which he appeared in: Dracula (1958), The Avengers, The Saint, Casino Royale, The House That Dripped Blood, Tales From The Crypt, Doctor Who, Space: 1999, The Tomorrow People, Columbo, Star Cops, Casualty, All Creatures Great and Small… just a small selection from a very big list. Thank you, Geoffrey. And Wikipedia. Back to the early 1970s. As far as ‘popular’ TV programming was concerned, ITV pretty much wiped the floor with the BBC in those days, unlike now – a volte-face I will happily debate until Smurf-blue in the face. But then… then it was different. Even the (expletive deleted) ad breaks were fewer.

PAUSE FOR A QUICK WORD FROM OUR SPONSOR, TOUCHWOOD, ABOUT ADVERTS:

Adverts? Don’t talk to me about adverts. (Ribbet!) Nasty, nasty, nasty things. Evil, insidious, brain-rotting, mind-numbing little bloodsuckers. (Croak!) Three breaks an hour in the ’70s, one break every ten minutes in 2019, you do the maths. Didn’t realise how lucky we were back in the day. (Ribbet! Ribbet!)

WELCOME BACK.

Catweazle was only a half-hour show and suffered just one ‘interruption’ per episode but, again, it didn’t really harm the flow of the fairly simple but engaging plotlines. There were moments of real poignancy, however, as each series drew to its own natural conclusion. And the 13th sign of the zodiac – a hot air balloon of all things – was a beautifully apt way for the character to sign off; after all the frustrations and indignities, Catweazle was finally doing the one thing he’d been steadfastly denied until now: flying. Not falling from a great height, arms flailing to zero effect, but actually…

Flying! Ha. Catch me if you can, he might also have said.

Unfortunately, there were no further adventures to be had. A proposed third series fell by the wayside, the result of a ‘new broom’ mentality following a management restructure at LWT, leaving Catweazle on a steady course to meet the setting sun and never to return. Ah, but endings sometimes have a habit of turning into new beginnings, don’t they? Just ask the fans… All twenty-six episodes are available on DVD in newly-restored editions. It’s a fitting testament to a show that was very well made (thanks to originator and writer Richard Carpenter and all the production team) but which also benefitted hugely from the charismatic presence of an actor who made the role an unforgettable children’s TV icon. Go on, just take a look at the cover of the complete series box set from Network and tell me that’s not the face of someone at the height of his powers thoroughly enjoying himself. I’m glad to have been able to revisit and re-acquaint with the wild-eyed old wizard. Forty-nine years on and still not keen on Sundays, though.

OF DÉJÀ VU AND YOUTHFUL IDYLLS J. Z. FERGUSON

J. Z. Ferguson is a British popular culture enthusiast with a particular love for television series of the sixties and seventies. She has contributed to all five volumes (and co-edited two) of ‘The Avengers on Film’ series, as well as to the ‘Classic British Television Drama’ series, ‘Man in a Suitcase: A Critical Guide’, and ‘Avengerworld’. She has also written pieces for the website The Avengers Declassified. She lives in Canada, loves to travel, and appreciates a good piece of hand-drawn comic art or animation.

I’ll be straight with you, reader. My first encounter with Catweazle came not as a child in early 1970s England, but as a grown-up across the pond in Canada. It also came long after the series’ original run graced the airwaves, in what, for poor old Catweazle himself, would be the even more mystifying world of 2019. But, despite these suitably Catweazle-ish misalignments in time and geography, I can still claim to be a part of the series’ target audience, because, to put it simply, this is my kind of show. First off, I still love kids’ shows (if more people watched stuff made for kids, the world would be better for it), particularly good, clever kids’ shows, with whip-smart writing that puts some of the so-called ‘adult’ programmes to shame. (Oh, the wonders of the 21st century, in which my beloved DuckTales, which I watched in syndication in the 1990s, has been rebooted with David Tennant as Scrooge McDuck, and Catherine Tate as Magica DeSpell.) Furthermore, as a Canadian, I was lucky enough to be weaned not only on the cream of children’s television from around the world, but on a fantastic crop of homegrown shows as well. We’re very good at children’s television in Canada, as evidenced by our enviable portfolio of exports, including the likes of The Raccoons, Inspector Gadget and Babar. Those animated series helped me to form a discerning kids’ TV palate, along with a host of other, live-action classics that could sit beside Catweazle quite nicely: Mr. Dressup,

Under the Umbrella Tree and The Big Friendly Giant, to name but a few. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, I have a deep and abiding love for vintage British television series, especially those from the Sixties and Seventies, with The Avengers, Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased), The Persuaders!, Jason King, Man in a Suitcase and The Champions numbering amongst my favourites. Catweazle, as a British children’s series that started filming in 1969, is therefore right up my street. Watching my first episode of the show, I was immediately endeared by the animated opening titles, sharing as they did the same simple, stark linework of The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle, another vintage series that I enjoyed as a child. However, I confess I didn’t know quite what to expect when I settled in to watch Catweazle. All of the British shows that I’m familiar with from the same period were ostensibly made for adults rather than children, and I wondered if I would find the difference in tone jarring. But Catweazle took me by surprise. Not because it felt different from all the shows I loved, but because it felt the same. I was first struck by the series’ heavily pastoral setting. Full of picturesque shots of the English countryside, all rolling hills and twisty hedgerowed lanes, the Catweazle universe could just as easily have featured in The Avengers, traversed by John Steed and Emma Peel as they investigated sinister goings-on at a manor house a few miles from the Collingfords’ abode. Or perhaps Lord Brett Sinclair of The Persuaders! might have invited Danny Wilde out to visit a country seat he owned in the vicinity? That sense of déjà vu extended to the incidental characters that populated the series’ environs. Many of Catweazle’s eccentrics could easily cross over to Avengerland, where a colonel treating his pet monkey “Boy” as a surrogate son and a sound archivist with a blasé attitude toward the survival rate of his assistants would blend seamlessly into the landscape. Indeed, Catweazle himself would make an ideal Avengers eccentric. With some century-appropriate credentials, John Steed and Emma Peel could call on him as an expert on all things magic. He could even retain his accommodations in Castle Saburac or Duck Halt – abandoned train stations and water towers are de rigueur amongst the out-there incidental character set, along with wild hair and a predilection for eleventh century fashion. After all, the Gaslight Ghoul Club and the Hellfire Club (seen

21 respectively in the Avengers episodes Fog and A Touch of Brimstone) didn’t let the latest trends influence their style, so why should Catweazle? Those eccentric characters (and even the supposedly ‘normal’ ones) were also played by a familiar pool of actors from the action-adventure genre, which only made me feel more at home in the show’s world. Here’s Kenneth Cope, fresh off Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased), in what I want to believe is a bit of ironic casting as an unscrupulous, brash, cigar-smoking developer with a paralyzing fear of the supernatural. There’s Ronald Lacey, dropping in to play an emotionally-manipulative burglar en route to blackmailing Peter Wyngarde’s novelist Jason King into doing a bit of secret government work in exchange for not being charged with tax evasion. Look, it’s Paul Eddington, cunningly disguised as a stage magician to escape from the authorities after sending Nemesis agent Richard Barrett off to be brainwashed into killing his compatriots Craig Stirling and Sharron Macready (The Champions). And then there’s the laundry list of genre credits notched by series regulars like Neil McCarthy (The Avengers, The Saint, Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased), Department S, Return of the Saint) and Charles Tingwell (Danger Man, Adam Adamant Lives!, The Avengers). And yet, not one of these actors pitches their performance any differently than they did when playing in Catweazle’s adult contemporaries. Even the premise of a time-travelling wizard doesn’t set Catweazle apart from its ‘grown-up’ peers. How can the lead’s plight be deemed outrageous when he’s in the company of a Victorian gentleman revived in the Swinging Sixties (Adam Adamant Lives!), telepathic and superpowered UN agents (The Champions), a ghostly detective (Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased)), and a man-eating plant from space (The Avengers)? If anything, it proves that Catweazle has the same sense of fun as other adventure series of the period, blurring the lines between adult and children’s entertainment in the process. That, undoubtedly, was the reason for Catweazle’s success, and why it earned high-profile adult fans like The Beatles. So many other shows of the period, while technically made for an adult audience, appealed to kids who pleaded with their parents to stay up past their bedtimes to see what Craig Stirling or Simon Templar or Jeff Randall or Steed and Mrs. Peel would get up to that week. The appeal of these series to younger viewers is attested to by their merchandising campaigns. Not that adults weren’t – or shouldn’t

22 have been – interested in the annuals and die-cast cars and puzzle books available in stores, but they were clearly primarily designed to appeal to the young and not the young at heart. By the same token, Catweazle, despite being made ‘for kids’, is quite close in tone to adult adventure shows. Of course, Catweazle lacked the murders and acts of violence that peppered the plots of those series. But that doesn’t mean Catweazle is short on genuine drama or suspense, or that those thrills fall prey to the children’s television curse of coming across as manufactured or overblown. Aside from the peril inherent in the story of the week (and there’s plenty), there’s the constant, underlying threat of Catweazle’s secret being uncovered. Because if anyone in authority ever got a hold of Catweazle and didn’t believe his story about being from 900 years in the past – or, even worse, if they did! – he’d wind up, as Cedric delicately puts it, somewhere not nice, a notion that sends a chill down the spine. We get a taste of what Catweazle’s fate would be if unscrupulous characters ever got their hands on him when he is ‘enslaved’ by a photographer who delights in Catweazle’s timid obedience. Much to our collective horror, she has no qualms about dehumanizing her star subject for her own ends. Layered onto this threat are other, incidental perils, like the nail-biting sequence where Catweazle plays with a grenade, blissfully unaware that he risks being blown to another plane of existence entirely! Even the 24-minute runtime doesn’t undercut the tension – The Protectors made do with roughly the same, and of the two, Catweazle packs in more action, plot, and characterisation! Unlike so many other series of the period, Catweazle also has a nice line in continuity. If Cedric promises to help Catweazle learn to read modern English, we see him doing it a few episodes later. If Catweazle nicks a crystal ball, it becomes a feature of Castle Saburac. And then there’s the serialised plots: Catweazle’s quests to return to his own time and to collect the signs of the zodiac. Unlike modern programmes, I’m accustomed to series from this era eschewing continuity, so I’m quite tickled by the way Catweazle knits its universe together so beautifully. Season Two even boasts a clever visual clue, hidden in plain sight. I assumed the recurring shots of the weather vane atop the Collingsford country pile were just a nice shorthand to establish the setting, but they turn out to be the key to the whole mystery! Dozens of modern-day shows include such subtle clues, but Catweazle beat

23 them to it decades ago. It was a delightful surprise on more than one level, and speaks to the thought that went into each part of the story. But, perhaps most importantly, Catweazle stands on an equal footing with ‘adult’ adventure series of the period because it doesn’t actively seek to exclude a segment of the audience. I watched my first vintage British series, The Avengers, when I was fairly young, and went on to see the likes of The Persuaders! and Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased) before reaching adulthood. These shows appealed to me because of their wonderfully realised characters, compelling plots, witty dialogue, imaginative sets and fantastic music. They weren’t trying to appeal exclusively to an adult audience; they were trying to be well-made pieces of entertainment. Catweazle was clearly made with the same credo in mind. It doesn’t condescend, doesn’t talk down to its audience. As a child, I was always vaguely embarrassed for adults who put on an act on children’s shows, feigning naïvety and flapping and hopping about in an effort to mimic the persona of a small child and thereby convince the audience that they were “one of them”. I wasn’t fooled – I could spot the act a mile away, and found it cringeworthy at best, an insult to the intelligence of the average six-year- old at worst. I’m just as impatient with them now, should I happen to see a snippet of something when switching the TV on. Catweazle doesn’t make me cringe as an adult, and I know it wouldn’t have if I was still a kid, either. That’s partly because the character, between Richard Carpenter’s writing and Geoffrey Bayldon’s scene-stealing performance, is so fully realised, so three-dimensional, that it blows all those facile, gurning children’s performers out of the water. Catweazle is good-hearted, but the show also allows him to be curmudgeonly, selfish, acquisitional, petulant and occasionally vindictive. It’s true that, in many ways, Catweazle is a big kid, and was clearly written as such to appeal to a child’s imagination. But the crucial difference is that neither character nor actor is trying to be a child. The real masterstroke, though, is making him a time-traveller. His wide-eyed wonder at the technological marvels of the twentieth century is undeniably childlike, but never feels contrived, nor does his assumption that “electrickery” is a type of magic come across as illogical, forced naïvety. Indeed, it makes sense that a man catapulted some nine hundred years into the future would have no other lens, save superstition and sorcery, through which to interpret modern technology.

That same straightforward, childlike perspective also allows Catweazle to make some particularly insightful observations about modern life. One of my favourite scenes involves Cedric showing Catweazle a clock, explaining that it tells him when to get up, when to go to sleep, when to eat. “Why does thou [obey]?” Catweazle exclaims incredulously, stunned at humanity’s willingness to be enslaved by a device. (Imagine what he’d say about smartphones!) It’s a brilliant skewering of modern society, showcasing Catweazle’s own brand of wisdom and his characterisation as an independent thinker who, admirably, cares little about what others think. This is befitting of a solitary wizard who was something of an eccentric even in his own time, living his life by his own rules. It adds further flesh to the bones of this unique, multi-dimensional character, who commands the audience’s attention regardless of the demographic. The same care was taken in developing the part of the ‘boy’. There’s a tendency for kids in children’s series to either follow the lead of their adult counterparts and play their roles over-earnest and sickly sweet, or to swing to the opposite end of the spectrum and become sardonic, sarcastic smart alecs, poseurs with ultra-fashionable clothes and overly-styled hair. Carrot and Cedric are undoubtedly mature for their age, often playing the adult disciplinarian to the somewhat childish Catweazle, but they don’t smirk their way through their parts, either. Both actors strike a delicate balance between being sensible and having a boyish sense of fun, meaning, unlike so many child stars, they’re neither annoying nor nauseating. Their mature outlook also means that they can believably protect Catweazle, but their concern for his well-being never tips over into the saccharine. Indeed, Carrot and Cedric frequently chastise Catweazle for his antics, with Catweazle giving as good as he gets with his snappy retorts. The encounters keep the relationship between the leads enjoyably spiky, making the occasional moments of easy, companionable bonhomie all the more special. One of my favourite scenes is when Catweazle and Cedric dance arrhythmically, unsophisticatedly, joyously to an old record, a few priceless seconds of TV gold that encapsulate all the carefree sweetness and elation of childhood. The boys are also our conduits for the series’ magic. Because there is genuine magic in Catweazle, and it has nothing to do with magic spells and mystical daggers. It’s in the wonder of Catweazle’s various hideouts. What

25 kid wouldn’t want a clubhouse in the middle of the woods or an abandoned train station? Or to have a secret passage leading out of their bedroom to a suite of chambers just begging to be explored? It’s also in the glory of the series’ seemingly never-ending summers, infused with sun-dappled surrealness. I vividly remember those endless summers, and Catweazle is the first series that I’ve seen since to capture that magical altered plane of consciousness, the timewarp that comes part and parcel with childhood, so perfectly. It also recalls that familiar pang in the heart triggered by the turn of the calendar page, the return of school, and the re-emergence of reality and responsibility, with no more endless days of freedom stretching out in all directions. That pang was always accompanied by a niggling sense that the summer holidays wouldn’t feel quite the same next year, because you’d be one step closer to adulthood, a little further along in that slow drift away from youthful idylls. Robin Davies felt that same sense of loss, knew a chapter was closing, when he wept after filming the final scene of the first series. Because Catweazle moving on is, of course, symbolic of the end of childhood. I’m not too proud to admit that the closing scenes of each season, with Catweazle disappearing by both water and air, made my heart ache, too. A good sort of ache. Of course, the pain was worth it, on all fronts. Carrot and Cedric’s world is made a little better by having Catweazle in it. He might be in the wrong century, and out of his depth, but there’s an inherent rightness to his wrongness. Perhaps that’s why so many incidental characters try to rationalise his presence, despite his outré appearance, positing that he’s a hermit, a faith healer, a stage magician, an academic. There’s a sense that he belongs in their world, that he’s needed, even if he can’t stay for long. By the same token, the world could use more series of Catweazle’s ilk, televisual time capsules that reawaken those precious childhood memories of carefree, sunny summer days. Catweazle has a quality, a brightness, that’s shared by many other series from that era, even the ‘adult’ ones, and it’s one of the many reasons I love those shows so much. Luckily for us, we can revisit these wonderful televisual worlds whenever we want. Only, unlike poor old Catweazle, we don’t have to jump in a moat to do it.

STICKLEBACKS AND PLASTIC SHORTS MARTIN STRIKE

Martin Strike bases his life on 1970s TV, which makes him very loud at five to five on a Friday afternoon. When not gardening or drinking Watney Party Sevens he writes humorous short stories. His first anthology, ‘Preposterous Tales From the Newbury Short Story Teller’ has recently been released on Amazon.

I would have been around twelve when Catweazle first came into my life; the perfect age. I would have been in my first year in big school, a fusty all- boys grammar school at that, and after the innocent joys of primary school in my short trousers, I was now forced to constrict my knees under hated ankle-flappers, no longer a big fish in a small pond, but a tiddler, struggling to swim against the harsher realities of grammar school life, being prey to austere school masters, acne-faced fourth-formers and Pythagoras. I hated it all, it was an alien world I was not coping well with, and though I may only have had the beginnings of bum-fluff on my chin rather than a straggly, wizened beard, in my mind I was Catweazle, out of my time, and the masters and older-boys were my Normans. Mum wouldn’t let me have a toad for a familiar, so mine was a stickleback, netted from a local stream and rushed home in a jar to a new life in my room, swimming in a Pyrex mixing bowl of captured weed and water. However, Touchwood, as he would inevitably be called, was dead by dawn, a death I had no doubt brought about by the stress I had endued on the poor thing during my struggle with trigonometry homework on the table next to his bowl earlier that evening. I cried, but the tears were as much for my misanthropy and ineptitude with right-angled triangles as for the loss of a kindred spirit. My escape after school was a small piece of wasteland within walking distance of my house, known locally as ‘The Copse’. In those sunny days of primary school, I spent much time there, kicking pushbikes, climbing trees and building camps. Sometimes we found golf balls driven into the trees

27 from the adjacent golf course, whose membership must have included a good number of players with bank balances significantly greater than their ability to remain on the fairways. Somehow I’d survived a whole year of big school and, on the first day of the summer holiday, walked through The Copse on my own, kicking at any stones or golf balls lying in the leaf litter and thinking of how, like Catweazle, I would be better off living in the woods – if only there was a disused water tower or two for me to hide from the world in. What there was though were trees, and it struck me that a tree-house could be a suitable alternative and I had six weeks less one day to build one. I scanned the boughs for an appropriate spot, but they were mainly tall, skinny birches, too flimsy to support the weight of timber I was intending to nail up there. But then I came across a wind-blown birch whose fall had been arrested by one of its stronger neighbours, their upper branches firmly entwined together. As well as providing more structure, I supposed that the 45° angle of the prone tree’s rake would make it easier for me to haul the planks of my woodland des-res up into the swaying heights. Only one problem really, apart from where to source the wood, was that I was very scared of heights. Filled with excitement and trepidation, I began to climb the fallen tree to double-check its credentials and my bravery. I felt that having my hero, Catweazle, with me in spirit, would inspire me to my new heights, where any passing teachers, bullies or Normans would not think of looking for me. All was going well. I’d managed not to look down and was gingerly approaching optimum building height when it happened. Unbeknown to me, my thin plasticky shorts had snagged on a branch and, as I climbed further, the tension between wood and elastic tightened to the point where, as if pierced by a bolt fired from an enemy crossbow, something had to give. There was a loud and disconcerting rip and I started to wobble. My fall to earth was much like the cartoon Catweazle’s own tumble through the centuries in the opening credits, only a little quicker. Even before I landed, I was aware that my shorts were steadfastly staying up in the tree, where for many years they would flap as a bright-yellow flag to all as testament to my ungainly return to earth. Yes, my arm hurt as a result of my plummet, but by far the worst part was the half-mile run of shame back home in my underpants. Catweazle, 28 for all his episodic issues, at least wore a reliable sort of sack-cloth smock- thing, and was not left vulnerable to mere twigs. Mum took me and my sore arm on the bus to the hospital where the nice X-ray operative diagnosed me with a fractured right wrist before sending me for my forearm to be plastered. We took the bus home after I had told the man that nothing else hurt. Well, at least it didn’t until the next morning when I woke to find the other arm aching. Same bus driver – same X-ray operative – same result – same plasterer – different arm. That had all happened at the start of the summer holidays. I spent the whole six weeks looking more like a mummy from Scooby-Doo than Catweazle. But I learned to deal better with people. After all, I spent that whole holiday having to explain to everyone who asked what on earth I had done, especially during our two weeks in Wales. The Copse is now a small nature reserve run by the Surrey Wildlife Trust. Sadly, I’m not sure that, more than forty years on, kids can now play there as freely as my generation did. I never did build that (or indeed any) tree house, but like to think that all these years later, my shorts have been absorbed by nature’s never-ending canvas and that if there are any resident hostages from the 11th century there, that having to deal with druggies, hooligans and errant branches proves easier than confronting the Normans.

This has been been a preview of Tis Magic! Our Memories of Catweazle.

If you enjoyed reading it, the book can be purchased via www.hiddentigerbooks.co.uk or Amazon stores around the world.

Available in hardcover, paperback and digital versions

Please note that digital versions are not illustrated.