I’d been an avid fan of Patrick McGoohan’s, ‘Danger Man’, series, as I considered it a cut above most TV fare, with its well-scripted, well-acted, well-produced storylines, often with unconventional downbeat endings. So, in 1966, holidaying in Porthmadog, I read in the newspaper that McGoohan was filming his new TV series in nearby Portmeirion; naturally I decided to go and see.
I was initially struck by the architectural confection, and then by the presence of McGoohan and the film crew, a giant chessboard laid out on a lawn. A number of Mini-Mokes were on the piazza, all the actors wearing brightly coloured clothes, and the star foremost along with a number of other actors that I recognised. But, to the untrained eye, filming can appear a slow business, so, I wandered off, on the way out noticing a strange vehicle, looking rather like a Michelin-Man on steroids which was tucked away in a garage, (the original ‘Rover’……Well, it all looked rather intriguing, and I made a mental note to certainly watch it when it reached our screen….
Around a year later, I eagerly tuned in, and was gripped right from the fast-moving opening sequence. This series was very different indeed. I’d never seen anything like this, each week it became even more intriguing, drawing me in. Of course, it captured the imagination. It was inspirational, a puzzle, resulting in much debate amongst both family and friends. And, we all wanted to know, who was Number One?
Well, watching the final episode, that sealed it for me. Something spoke to me at a very deep level. After, the memory lingered, in fact, never went away.
The years passed. For a time I didn’t even have a television. Luckily, in 1976 I did acquire one, but didn’t bother to buy a listings magazine, so, by chance, I happened to tune in late one Saturday night on an Autumn evening, to find the series being rescreened. For one reason or another I continued to get in late, toward the end of the episode, missing the continuity announcer’s introduction. In fact, the first time I caught this, where the announcer, Peter Tomlinson, read out letters from intrigued viewers, was when the penultimate episode was broadcast. So: I was not alone! Others were as smitten as me. I wanted to meet them, talk over what the series was about. My mind raced, how could I do this? Light bulb! I would write to Peter Tomlinson.
Monday saw my letter sent first-class. On Wednesday came a reply. Now, I not being on the phone, I rang from work and with much to-ing and fro-ing over the rest of the week, after the broadcaster explained they could not share viewer’s details, but sensing my enthusiasm, on the Saturday morning, they agreed that my details could be screened at the end of the final episode. You can imagine my heightened sense of anticipation as I watched, ‘Fall Out’ draw to its enigmatic conclusion. Then… Yes! An explosion of joy: there were my details on screen accompanied by Peter reading them out. It was now 12.30 am, and I was simply both relieved and thrilled. I had no idea what would happen, but what did, took over my life. And the roller-coaster ride it became was to take it in a complexly new direction…
Having processed my excitement, I went to bed, and sleep. That is, until, at 2am, there was knock at the door. Blundering about, in total darkness, I made my way downstairs, switching a light on, and upon opening the door, only o find four young men who had driven down the motorway from Sutton Coldfield. They came in and I made tea. Then another knock. Two fellows from Oxford. Well, what next…
I was out on the Sunday, and arrived home in the evening to find around a dozen letters stuffed through my letterbox. All was quiet on the Monday, and then Tuesday, it began. During the week, I took to watching the letter box in amazement as the postman stuffed wad after wad of letters through the aperture. They mounted up, into the hundreds. They just kept coming. A deluge which continued into a second week and beyond. Many hundreds. Clearly, ‘something’ had to be done.
Thankfully, two other very keen enthusiasts who also lived in Cheltenham, Roger Goodman and Judie Adamson, beat a path to my door. Both, for different reasons, were ‘free’, both had the opportunity to be free of work. With their organising ability, it was they, who created all the administrative systems, the framework, AND, a publication, so ‘Six of One’ could emerge into the eagerly waiting world, to provide what everyone craved; information….
It was an exciting, heady time. In a sense, we were virgins; doing something that no-one had done before. The press got wind, and soon we were in the national papers. Both ITC, (the series copy write holder’, and Portmeirion, responded favourably. The former inviting us to a meeting, and graciously made 16 ml prints as well as access to their stills library, the latter agreeing we could hold a one-day ‘convention’ in Portmeirion itself. We were on our way.
Membership exploding into the thousands. In time, we were to have more members than the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament. To deal with mailing out our journal, Roger, Judie, and I realised that we needed help, so we introduced the concept of ‘work-ins’. We would hire a venue, interested members would let us know if they were coming, and as we all packed the loose-leaf journal, ‘Alert’, it also acted as a social, with like-minds meeting fellow enthusiasts. If I’d had a £1 for every time someone said, ‘I thought I was a lone voice…’
It was an exciting time, local groups formed, media coverage intensified. As the series was being screened regionally, some groups and individuals drove to a different transmission region so they could see the series again. There was real curiosity about us. Some shops – estate agents and the like, even allow us to mount window displays.
It was intoxicating, as we all met these other enthusiasts, a real fellowship was created. We were treading unexplored territory; all of us united by their admiration for a television series that dared to venture to places never explored before. Of course, for me, well, everyone knew who I was, and I was immediately on first-name terms with dozens of individuals. Some became more memorable than others. The reasons for this vary. In the case of Jeremy, I sensed that was a highly individualistic brain at work. Someone who was both quiet and thoughtful, but, when he spoke, it was invariably because it always brought me up sharp, like a pebble cast into still water. Statements that were measured, calm, yet got one thinking. Yes, Jeremy was someone you didn’t forget. So here are the two of us, nudging toward some five decades, when a 17 part television series, altered the paths of both our lives. What is it they say, parallel lines sometimes meet…?
Dave Barrie
