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This rare BBC programme should have been fairly simply to track down and view using my contacts within the BBC and the BFI (British Film Institute); I knew from experience that the latter organisation could borrow items from the BBC Film and Videotape Archive for private researchers, but all the avenues were closed to me. There seemed to be no possible way to view this.
I knew the programme had existed (it was referenced in a letter from Gus Cohen to Walter Lord), but given the BBC's deplorable practise in the 1970s of destroying items that had exceeded their sales potential, have it survived the furnaces?
A quick email to Dick Fiddy of the BFI confirmed that it did exist, and he gave me a list of participants. The full title of the programme was "FIRST HAND:2:THE SINKING OF THE TITANIC" (presumably 'First Hand' was the name of the TV series?). With a note that the "Titanic footage [had been] returned to BFI", the list of contributors was listed as follows: COHEN, Gus, COTTAM, Harold, HURST, Walter, JOHNSTONE, Paul (PRD), LIGHTELLER, [sic], MANNING, mrs QUICK, ROWE, G. T., RUSSELL, Edith, THOMAS, Nancy (DIR), WITTER, James, WEST, Peter.
Finally, thanks to a fortunate assemblance of people and resources, a copy was made available to me. Considering that UK TV broadcasts in 1956 were of 405 line resolution image, the recording is in quite good shape. The show survived as a telerecording (kinescope) made by simply pointing a film camera at a studio monitor. The line structure of the screen is evident in a few places; the images have reduced definition and are very "contrasty", with areas of bright white or pitch black dominating. It would have been nice to have the show on higher quality videotape, but recording on 2 inch Ampex tape was not widespread, and the only other option was to use the BBC's VERA (Vision Electronic Recording Apparatus); a behemoth that sped through tape at 70 feet per second, giving a recording time of only 15 minutes from a 21 inch-diameter reel of tape! With neither option available, a film recording was the only available archival possibility in 1956. Still, someone went to the trouble of making and keeping the show and for this we are lucky: just three years earlier, recording of the final four episodes of the Quatermass serial was abandoned because the quality of the kinescopes was so low, and "The Sinking of the Titanic" was made using exactly the same technique.
The assembled guests were Gus Cohen, Wally Hurst, James Witter, Edith Russell and George Rowe. From the Carpathia, we had Harold Cottam. Lightoller, it was noted, had died a few years ago and his radio interview was played out over a sillhouetted graphic showing the Titanic getting low in the water, attaining a vertical position and then sinking. To assist the programme makers, a large model was used, a pointer used to indicate areas mentioned during the interviews. This model was presumably constructed by Bernard Wilkie and Jack Kine of the BBC Visual Effects Workshop.
The programme seems to be incomplete and is split into chunks. The footage of the Titanic is missing, as indicated in the BFI's notes, and there is no clue as to what this film consisted of. It was probably of the ship in Belfast in early 1912. But the interviews are complete, but the opening and closing titles had been excised. We must be thankful that any of it survived. Apart from archival staff at the BBC, perhaps only two people have seen it since 1956.
The interviwer first asked Edith Russell her story, and she replied that, before the collision, she was "...In the library. The steward has just called out 11.30 'Lights out' so I gave him a few letters to post in the morning, told him I'd pay for the stamps, picked up a book and walked forward to my stateroom, which was on the same deck, A11.
2nd Class Smoke Room Steward James Witter was asked for his recollections of the impact:
Quatermaster George Rowe related how he had helped to fire the distress rockets; "I went on watch on the poop at 8 o'clock. At 10 o'clock I read the log and passed it onto the forebridge. At twenty minutes to twelve I was pacing up and down the deck and I felt a good jar.
Third class survivor Gus Cohen was a bit more lively than his fellow interviewees. He started off his account by saying that, "We had a celebration with a glass of lemonade," prompting a chuckle and an incredulous question from the host, "am I expected to believe that?"
Russell again picks up her story:
I was on A deck in the lounge, when [Bedroom Steward Robert] Wareham came along and I said to him, "here Wareham, here are my trunk keys would you mind taking care of my trunks if I don't get back in time in the morning." So he said, "you'd better go in and kiss those trunks goodbye." I said "You don't think theres any danger do you. If there is, you'd better go back and get me my mascot."
In a break from the survivor's tales, the interviewer now approached Harold Cottam of the Carpathia. Starting off with a demonstration of morse telegraphy (to which the interviewer admitted that the audible buzzer wasn't an accurate addition to the equipment), Cottam was asked when the Titanic called him. He replied, "She didn't call me, I called her about 1 o'clock in the morning after I had taken the press or listened to the press I took a batch of messages for her with the intention of redirecting them on to her I called her up and the only reply I got that she'd struck ice and I said "was it serious?" and she said "Yes its a CQD old man. Here's the postion, report it and get here as soon as you can." So I took the position on a scrap of paper and rushed up to the bridge with it. When I got on the bridge I contacted the officer of the watch and the information didn't seem as though it had sunk as fast as I thought it ought to, so I rushed down the ladder and knocked on the captain's cabin and as I saw a light I rushed in. And he said "Who the hell....?" or words to that effect so I said well, the Titanic's struck ice, sir and she's in distress. I've got the position here so he said well, give it to me and he put a dressing gown on and went. So he said, Will you confirm this, go aft and confirm it if you can ... which I did. When I came back he said you'd better go back and tell them we are going to double bank out watches on deck and below and tell him we are on our way as fast as you could go."
Finally Fireman Wally Hurst recounted his account: "Well, I saw the foreward part of the boat deck dip underwater so I jumped overboard ... [I] swim away from the ship, turned round to look at her and down come the funnel smashed into the water right in front of my face. I got a gush of wind and dirt that nearby blinded me and I felt the cap go off my head and one slipper off my foot. But I didn't take my attention off of this boat and I see this collapsible boat wash straight off the deck within a few yards of me. I managed to get on to it, followed quickly by the second officer and a few others. Anyhow, she soon got filled up. There was an old man stood next to me and he was complaining all the night long about his head was so cold. I took particular to this as mine was pretty cold too. But a friend of mine, a shipmate named Lindsey gave me a drink from a bottle. I thought I was on a good thing I thinked it was whisky or brandy; turned out to be essence of peppermint. Nearly choked me!"
The show is a nice historical novelty. It doesn't tell us anything that we don't already know but it is nice to hear survivors tell their story in the own words. But, on the other hand, given how hard it is for bona fide researchers to access such treasures, it might as well have been mercilessly shovelled into the furnaces 30 years ago.
The remnants of this TV show have been placed on YouTube by the BBC here; the broadcast date (1957) is wrong, though.
Postscript The tune played by the musical pig has mystified researchers for decades. When it was bequeathed to Walter Lord, it was reportedly broken and it was later donated to the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich along with Lord's other collection of Titanic related material. But the box was unplayable and the tune was feared lost for ever - until August 2013 when researchers at the museum managed to play the musical box.
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