We didn't have a TV at home, so even a potter's wheel and an inanimate test card came as something of a bonus. I’m harking back to the days when television was still in its infancy and BBC broadcasts were confined to an area within London’s 'Ally Pally' - a forty mile radius of Alexandra Palace. It wasn’t until 1951 that television began its march across the Midlands to the Sutton Coldfield transmitter, then onwards to the Holme Moss transmitter in the north of England. By 1952, 'H'-shaped TV aerials were sprouting up on rooftops in Scotland, South Wales and the West Country. The prospect of owning a TV became everyone's dream, but as the BBC hierarchy considered regional accents inappropriate (self-appointed custodians of public morals) most children's programmes seemed rather 'oity-toity' until 1955 and the Independent Television Authority (ITA) was launched. Thanks to the impact that ITA made, the number of television sets shot up to five million, with both channels transmitting just fifty hours of viewing per week, starting the evening schedules at 7pm and ending the night with the national anthem at a daringly late 11pm... 

The new medium of television spawned a major merchandising industry. In 1954, the most popular children's toys included Andy Pandy jigsaw puzzles and Flowerpot Men painting books, whilst Sooty's toy xylophone became the best selling toy of the year. After the Queen’s Coronation in 1953, the number of people watching the 'goggle box' increased to more than 10 million, but viewers only had BBC transmitters t o tune into until Saturday, September 22nd 1955 when the Independent Television Authority (ITA) was born. On the opening night, the BBC fought back with 'The Donald Duck Story', but the wireless stole all its rivals' thunder with the death in a fire of Grace Archer; a leading character in 'The Archers'.  Gibbs SR toothpaste was the first commercial to be shown on ITV at 8.12pm during a variety show hosted by Jack Jackson.

At the time, nobody realised that television's influence would accompany us throughout the rest of our lives and, like the 'Hit Parade' launched by the New Musical Express in 1952, it tells us a good deal more about ourselves than

Harry Corbett sprinkles ‘oofle dust’ on Sooty's magic spell and utters the immortal words - “Izzy wizzy, let's get busy!” Adored by children everywhere, Sooty was given his own show on BBC television in 1955, but one of Sooty's props (a harmless balsa wood hammer which Sooty used to hit Harry on the head!) was frowned upon of by the boss of BBC children's television, Freda Lingstrom. She feared that it might set a bad example to youngsters - and, she was right! A toddler in Lancashire bashed his dad on the head with a real hammer and the poor man was rushed to hospital for stitches to the potentially fatal wound. When asked why he did such a thing, the child replied - 'Well Sooty did it! In 1957 Sooty was joined by Sweep, a dog with a sausage fetish, followed by Soo, Sooty's panda girlfriend in 1964 - and what a hullabaloo she caused! Despite the permissive Sixties, the rules regarding propriety on children's television were constrained, and to safeguard the BBC from accusations of sliding down the slippery slope of immorality, Soo and Sooty were not allowed to touch! 

The most popular TV folk heroes of the Fifties, were William Tell (a crack-shot with a

cross bow) and the swashbuckling hero, Ivanhoe, who returned from the crusades to find the evil Prince John had seized power from his brother King Richard. Also I mustn't forget Robin Hood, the 12th century outlaw, formerly known as Robin of Locksley, the Earl of Huntingdon who, according to the theme song - 'Was feared by the bad and loved by the good.' But by far the biggest hero, was the masked Lone Ranger, who rode a fiery horse with a speed of light, a cloud of dust - and a hearty 'Hi-ho, Silver, away!' - it was great hip-slapping stuff which cut the journey time home from school by half.

For older children, the adventures of folk heroes William Tell and Robin Hood were huge hits. So too was Sir Walter Scott’s swashbuckling Ivanhoe, played by a young Roger Moore. Another favourite was Davy Crockett, a hero of the Alamo, who was born on a mountain top in Tennessee, and became king of the wild frontier - and of course, Dublo Dave had the outfit, complete with a fake buckskin jacket, powder horn and the most fashionable accessory for small boys in the 1950s - a Davy Crockett’s coonskin hat.

But perhaps the most controversial children’s entertainers in the Fifties were the terracotta twosome: Bill and Ben, 'The Flowerpot Men', who had a vocabulary range completely of their own - 'Flobadob,' said Bill. 'Flobalobadob,' said Ben. Parents were aghast. The exchange of gibberish fell a long way short of the high standard they expected of  the BBC.

Odd then, that nearly fifty years later and TV history should repeat itself with the dim-witted exchanges between Tinky-Winky, Laa-Laa, Po and Dipsy of 'Tellytubbies' fame. But then, child psychologists will argue that no matter how unfathomable their language may sound, the Tellytubbies' dialogue is understood by pre-school children worldwide...in the same way as 'Klingon' is comprehensible to devoted Trekkies.

But the Flowerpot Men were not the first to pioneer a trail for others to follow. Today’s television gardeners have become something of a British institution, yet the phenomenon started back in 1956 when a green-fingered Percy Thrower pottered about his garden shed giving couch potatoes handy tips on pruning. And the do-it-yourself handyman was not forgotten either. In 1956 Barry Bucknell championed home improvements for the ham-fisted amateur, whilst a fierce-looking Fanny Craddock over-egged her celebrity guise by donning, of all things, flowing ballroom gowns in the kitchen. She was the first TV cook to bring haute cuisine to the masses, though it wasn't her culinary expertise that appealed most to women, it was her fiery put downs of poor husband, Johnny...talk about being under the thumb! Back in the days when men were men (and women were grateful) her sideswipes went down a storm with the fairer sex in the chiefly male-dominant Fifties. It reminds me of the unfortunate BBC announcer who, in linking up to the next TV slot, announced - 'I hope your doughnuts turn out like Fanny's!' Moving swiftly on...

  Childhood influences. Had it not been for my parents sending me to Sunday School, my interest in art

might never have surfaced, yet I had the inclination, even then, for drawing and painting, so the simple task of crayoning in picture books of biblical events was not the scholarly drudge that other kids found. Did children dare complain about the injustices of a six-day working week? Are you kidding? We were forbidden to voice an opinion of our own. The arrival of 'Eagle' comic was the highlight of the week. The comic had everything a boy could wish for - terrific stories, quality paper, full colour photogravure and brilliant artwork. The Eagle's Dan Dare - pilot of the future - was the quintessential British hero; a perfect antidote to all those terrible 'cape crusader'   comics flooding in from America. The web is crammed with Fifties nostalgia, from Dennis the Menace to Beryl the Peril. That's how I came across the Nicholas Hill's 'Eagle' website which is dedicated to artist, Frank Hampson, who created Dan Dare - a nice touch, that...

If I had to find a plausible excuse for copying pictures out of 'Eagle' comic as a boy, it was the prospect of following in the footsteps of Leslie Ashwell Wood; one of the artists employed by Eagle comic. His remarkable 'cutaway' centrespreads left an indelible impression on small boys in the Fifties and a lot of aspiring youngsters were unwittingly influenced by his work. The same goes for C Reginald Dalby who illustrated the Rev W Audrey’s ‘Thomas the Tank Engine’ books - and I mustn't forget Vic Welch's covers of Trains Annual. But above all else, I must mention the B/W line drawings by AN Wolstenholme, who signed his work with the initials ANW. His drawings were more than page-fillers to me, the artwork was brilliant, and although my own efforts never came anywhere close, I used the same technique to do a number of covers for Model Railway Societies annual exhibition catalogues, including this one of A4s meeting at Peterborough.

For train spotters, the best loved film during the Fifties was 'The Titfield Thunderbolt' made in 1953 by Ealing Studios - the studio's first colour

picture. It tells the story of a small group of protesters making a stand against the faceless bureaucrats of British Railways. The Titfield villagers will go to any lengths to prevent closure of their local branch line, even 'borrowing' an engine (Lion) from the local museum. The film was shot on location on the now-closed ex-GWR Camerten branch which ran through the beautiful Cam Valley just south of Bath. In many ways, the film gave us a foretaste of things to come in the Beeching era during the 1960s - a decade that saw the rise of those apolitical crusaders for the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND) - and, of course, the steam versus diesel debate, which had a profound effect on train spotters throughout the country.

Back in the Fifties, the Second World War was still fresh in people’s minds, so it was only natural that many films featured the conflict with Germany. 'The Dam Busters' told the story of the daring low-level bombing raids over the Ruhr and Eder valleys in the industrial heart of Germany. Led by Wing Commander Guy Gibson (played by Richard

Todd) the 617 Squadron succeeded in blowing open the dams Moehne, holding 134 million cubic feet of water, and Eder, with 202 million cubic feet. You could always tell when a youngster had been to see the film; he would emerge from the cinema, blink at the daylight, then to the accompaniment of Eric Coate’s theme music still pounding in his head, stretch out his arms and pretend to be a Lancaster bomber on an imaginary raid of his own over the local rec. In commemoration of the Dam Busters Raid, preserved Lancaster Bomber 'City of Lincoln' flies between the twin towers of Derwent Dam in Derbyshire, reviving memories of the rehearsal runs prior to the bombing raid on the Ruhr Valley in 1943.

On a lighter note, the biggest influence in the Sixties came from the medium of television, since most of our memories have their roots in what we saw on TV. We witnessed the building of the Berlin Wall; the frame-by-frame scrutiny of President JF Kennedy's assassination in Dallas, Sir Alf Ramsey's stiff upper-lipped celebrations after England won the World Cup and Neil Armstrong's first steps on the moon. Meanwhile, in Gotham City, Commissioner Gordon is in urgent talks on the Batphone to the cape crusader. The Joker is threatening to

destroy City Hall with a gooey slime. Back at millionaire Bruce Wayne's luxury mansion, Batman's teenage protégé, Robin, slams gloved fists together in anger, 'Holy grease nipples!' he gasps - 'That dastardly Joker is a slimeball!' Bruce Wayne pauses wistfully for a long moment - 'You're right, Robin. To the Batcave...and quickly!..the good citizens of Gotham City are in a sticky situation!'  Okay, I made the dialogue up, but the deadpan humour and corny fight sequences - Zap! Kapow! Crunch! Sock!  made the 1966 series part of TV legend. It also created a host of TV merchandise including this rocket-firing Batmobile introduced by Corgi Toys. In 1963, a series of sci-fi anthologies, 'The Outer Limits' was first aired on British TV - ‘There is nothing wrong with your television set,' droned a deep voice from the corner of our living room - 'Do not attempt to control the picture. We are controlling transmission. We will control the vertical...we can change the focus to a soft blur or sharpen it to a crystal clarity. We will control all you see and hear!' And they did!...scary.

But not as scary as the 'BOOM-BANG-A-BANG YEARS!: In the days before television turned

us into a nation of couch potatoes, the local cinema was the 'in' place to go. The majority of films had a certain feel-good factor about them (big-budget musicals mainly) but Hollywood also made its fair share of 'x'-rated alien-invasion movies (sparked off by the Communist threat). The scariest films for me, though, showed the deadly effects of radiation which somehow transmogrified even the most placid nuclear physicist into a crazed mutant. It imbued a lot of people with a genuine fear of nuclear power which still exists today. Odd then, that the mushroom-shaped clouds billowing above nuclear test sites looked strangely beautiful in a perverse sort of way - but beautiful they were not. They were a constant reminder that thousands of missile systems were in a perpetual state of readiness on both sides of the Atlantic, and in the event of a nuclear strike there'd be no collateral damage - the bomb would take out everything...

THE CHANGING WORLD: The song and dance routines in 'The Black & White Minstrel Show' (1958-1978) gave the BBC one of its biggest hits - a Saturday-night variety show which regularly topped 18 million viewers. It even won the coveted ‘Golden Rose’ award in 1961. During the early days of television, the 'blacking up' of white

performers left (photo © Radio Times) was not widely regarded as discriminatory, but by the 1970s the implications of caricaturing black people (when there were few representations of black people on television) eventually led to the show's demise. It clearly illustrates how racial representations have become part of public debate in recent years. But the Black and White Minstrel Show was not the only victim of the politically-correct brigade. Britain can be justifiably proud to be a multicultural society, but the fear of causing offence to ethnic groups has led to cencorship on an epic scale. Is that why the makers of Robertson's jam felt obliged to drop their famous Golliwog logo? Or why the nameplates of Class A4 No 60009 Union of South Africa were substituted for Osprey during the Commonwealth Games in Edinburgh? Even 'Star Trek' was ruled offside! Captain Kirk's original opening message in which he says (I’ve italicised the offensive word)  - 'to boldly go where no man has gone before' - was  altered to - 'where no one has gone before'. Now is it me, or is the world going stark raving mad? Its almost as if political correctness is turning this country into a right old nanny state - but then, we seem to have a national genius for creating dotty disorder. 

At the risk of sounding off again, why does the media offer such meaningless role models for youngsters to follow? The self-absorbed lifestyles of minor celebrities makes it difficult for kids to distinguish between self-gratification  and 'real' happiness. Besides, I'm a lot older nowadays, and the word 'grumpy' - often so loosely applied to the older generation - certainly rings true with me. People in my age group wish they could turn the clock back to the less-worldly days when children's television was still in its infancy and less gimmicky than the 'flash-bang-wallop' techniques adopted by today's producers. Is it any wonder that a child's 'attention span' is zilch nowadays? Starting as a strip cartoon in 'Eagle' comic, the podgy skipper Captain Horatio Pugwash, made his TV debut in 1957 and regularly clashed with the notorious black-bearded pirate, Cut Throat Jack - cut

throat? Scary stuff for pre-school kids. And I'm amazed at how the dubiously-named Master Bates got past the censors! Still the animated series remained a firm favourite with children right up until 1965, ranking alongside 'Magic Roundabout', 'Paddington Bear' and 'The Wombles' as cult TV classics.The BBC's long-running 'Blue Peter' remains another popular series. Shown twice weekly, the Blue Peter charity appeals have passed into television legend. The idea of persuading children to collect anything from old clothes and stamps to aluminium cans and milk bottle tops helped raise money for thousands of worthwhile causes, including the restoration of Class A2 Pacific No 60152 Blue Peter at Doncaster Plant. Over the years, the coveted Blue Peter badge and presenters Valerie Singleton, Peter Purvis and John Noakes - not forgetting Shep, the sheepdog - left an indelible mark on millions of Sixties youngsters. 

 'You'll be a little lovelier each day'...'You'll wonder where the yellow went…' No prizes for guessing the brand of soap and toothpaste! During the Fifties and Sixties, television commercials were often more popular than the programmes! If you remember Joe, the tongue-tied Esso Blue paraffin salesman who called himself

the 'Esso Blee Dooler' (top right) then you'll remember the dancing shirts in the Rael-Brook ad (bottom right). The first commercial to be seen on TV was for Gibbs SR toothpaste in September 1955. It was followed by ads for Lux, Guinness, Surf, National Benzole, Summer County margarine, Batchelor's peas and Brillo. In that same year the Snap' crackle, pop' and 'Too-good-to-hurry-mints' jingles began, and a year later, the 'Don't forget the fruit gums, mum!' and PG Tips chimps commercials first appeared. In 1957, OXO's Katy cooked up a slap-up meal with 'man appeal', the Egg Marketing Board urged the nation to 'go to work on an egg' and 'A Mars a day helped us work, rest and play'. By 1961 the Fairly Liquid -'Now hands that do dishes' and Cadbury's Milky Bar Kid adverts made their debut, then in 1962 came the Stork Margarine Challenge and the sophisticated 'After Eight' dinner parties, followed in 1964 by the Esso tiger campaign. The list goes on and on. Remember the whispering 'Sshh!.- you know who!' and 'BO' campaigns? Some advertisers tried every trick in the book to boost sales. Take the daredevil chap who climbed over rooftops and jumped out of helicopters to deliver boxes of chocolate - 'and all because the lady loved Milk Tray?' Meanwhile, a pokerfaced Clement Freud told us that Henry, his canine friend, preferred Chunky dog food, yet most top breeders recommended Pedigree Chum (according to the makers). Perhaps the catchiest jingle of the decade came in 1969 when the Beanz meanz Heinz commercials began. And the biggest flop? It has to be the 1960 campaign for Strand cigarettes, then costing 3/2d for a packet of twenty. In the days before the Government stubbed out tobacco advertising in August 1965, the ad's slogan -'You'll never be alone with a Strand' - featured a melancholy-looking guy played by Terence Brook (right). The theory behind the brand's failure was the fear of ending up as lonely as the chap in the commercial! So television didn't always work wonders, then? - well, it did for Double Diamond in 1968. If you love TV nostalgia, then the fantastic BBC's cult TV is one of the best sites on the internet.