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How WW2 popularised quizzing

2017-12-18T10:37:14+00:00

Elsie and Doris Waters - famous as comedy duo Gert and Daisy - compete in a Spelling Bee in 1944

Alan Connor is a journalist, TV presenter and author of several books on quizzes. He has also found some insights in the �� Genome listings into the origins of the game.

While doing the peculiar job of "question editor", in between deciding on the questions that contestants and viewers will answer, I have come up with some questions for myself. Inevitably, I suppose. Questions about questions.

And the answers aren't obvious at first. Why on earth do we quiz? When did we start doing so? What makes a good – and, indeed, a rotten – quiz question? And why don't quiz shows give sandwich toasters as prizes any more?

I'd imagined that to find how and why Britain began to make a game out of asking and answering questions, I'd be going back to Victorian parlours... or perhaps deeper into history: to Enlightenment thinkers outsmarting each other over a cup of new-fangled coffee after a hard day's enlightening.

As Jeremy Paxman would curtly respond to any of these guesses: nope. The answers were, in fact, to be found in the ��'s searchable archive of Radio Times listings, Genome. It was the �� that got Britain addicted to the quiz. Genome was, as I expected, an absolute treasure trove: but you can't find the earliest quizzes by using "quiz" as a search term. The first quizzes were not even called "quizzes". They were bees.

A Transatlantic Spelling Bee listing from 1938

That word comes from the US; so too did the ��'s first "Bee": on 30 January 1938, the Regional Programme London broadcast Transatlantic Spelling Bee, a "spelling match between members of Harvard and Radcliffe Colleges, and Oxford University". Radio Times took pains to explain to listeners what we now take for granted as part of a contest of knowledge, reassuring them that the programme was "an extension of an idea that has been very popular with American listeners". In other words: don't panic, this idea of people competing to answer questions might just prove entertaining.

After a few more Spelling Bees, an unnamed, unsung pioneer at Regional Programme Northern twigged that the same set-up – microphones, buzzers, questions – could be used in a competition based on something other than spelling. And so it was that Britain got its first proper quiz: April 1938's General Knowledge Bee, a "contest across the Pennines between schoolchildren of both counties".

Quizzes were, I believe, radio's first genuine innovation. Other programmes took something that already existed – the newspaper, the concert, the lecture – and made it into programming. But the quiz was a beast of broadcasting.

It already existed in US radio, but right from that first trans-Pennine event, British quiz programmes were a very different activity to their cocky US cousin. Cash prizes? Certainly not! Oily hosts? The thought never crossed the Corporation's minds.

The atmosphere was wholesome, improving and very much borrowed from the classroom – a tradition which continued through Top of the Form (from 1948, "A Battle of Wits between teams representing boys' schools in London"), University Challenge, Blockbusters and the rest. (And then there was The Brains Trust, where a panel answered questions such as "What is happiness?" and "Are thoughts things or about things?" Answers not provided below.)

Leon Shepley, Geoffrey Dennis, Anthony Lawrence, John Marus and Ruggero Orlando recording a 1949 episode of The Brains Trust

Before all that, though, the quiz had to establish itself as part of broadcasting furniture. It took a war.

During World War Two, the "bee" was put to work as part of the national effort. No question-setter of that era was ever stuck thinking "what shall I ask them about this time?"; the answer was: whatever will be more likely to bring us victory. And the rewards came in the form of being better informed: the �� Service offered its Air Raid Wardens' Training Bee, where teams gathered at a Warden's Post to be tested on the finer points of firefighting. You found out whether you were digging correctly for victory on the Agricultural Bee (subtitled "What Land Girls ought to know") and the Forces Programme kept the troops on their toes with its regular Naval Intelligence ("a quiz bee with teams from all ranks").

There was also a one-off called A Competition: Sons in France against Parents in England brought soldiers back into contact with their nearest and dearest. But it was a one-off for good reason: The poignancy of this on-air family reunion was slightly undermined by the audible vomiting of one of the inebriated Sons and the ��’s concern that his equally jolly brothers-in-arms seemed constantly on the verge of giving away their location to the Germans.

University Challenge presenter Jeremy Paxman appearing on Parkinson in 2002

Those programmes are long gone, but two of the biggest of the quiz programmes of today have their origins in World War Two. University Challenge was once a form of on-base entertainment for US soldiers. The starters and bonuses had different names, because University Challenge is actually based on a basketball metaphor: answer a "jump ball" (starter-for-ten) and you got a chance at three "free throws" (bonuses). Intriguing enough for GIs, and the quiz, as Jeremy Paxman slyly notes in his book on the programme, was really "a way to keep servicemen from their more conventional styles of recreation".

The success of University Challenge (originally broadcast by ITV) spurred the �� to come up with something to match. The producer tasked with this, Bill Wright, had been a flight-sergeant during the war, but was shot down and kept in solitary confinement for three weeks and prisoner-of-war camps for three years.

He was plagued with nightmares in which an interrogator insisted, in the dark, for his name, rank and serial number while he sat in a black chair under a bright light.

One morning, though, he announced to his wife that he was going to keep the chair and make it the central point of a new quiz, with a spin on "name, rank, serial number" before the first question. No prizes for guessing the name of that one, whose Genome listing announces: "This new and exciting brain game invites contenders to take the stand and defend their claim to the title".

Magnus Magnusson hosted Mastermind for 25 years.

Yes, the �� might eventually have succumbed to the occasional excitement of modest money prizes and shiny floors, but British quiz's wartime edifying roots can still be seen, and we remain the only country to broadcast, in prime-time, quizzes with little to no reward, where the viewer feels gratified if they've answered as many as one or two of the questions. Good. We don't care about prizes.

Over at iPlayer, there's collection of vintage quizzes curated by Richard Osman, which include the programme that Bill Wright came up with before Mastermind, the extraordinary Quiz Ball.

An Early Christmas Present

2016-12-19T15:00:00+00:00

Here at �� Genome we've decided to give you an early Christmas present: the chance to download the 1941 Christmas issue of Radio Times. This slimmer magazine is a poignant reminder of life under World War II, as the Both Sides of the Microphone column on page 2 attests:

"No need to stress the obvious fact that Christmas 1941 will be, in a material sense, only a shadow of the Christmases most of us have known. The family table will not groan as of old under a weight of good fare. There will be vacant chairs at the table, more poignantly vacant on the great day of family festival than on any other day. Nevertheless, it is Christmas, and none can escape it, even if there were any Scrooges still around so foolish as to wish to. Christmas 1941 may be all too different from other Christmases: it will still be different from every other day in 1941."

But we'll let you discover this fascinating historical document by yourself. Download a PDF version of the 1941 Christmas Radio Times by clicking on this link. It's our way of saying thank you for your loyal following, for sharing your discoveries with us, for helping make �� Genome a better data source by editing it, and for being so patient with the latest technical problems. We hope you enjoy it!

(And yes, this would be Advent Calendar Day 19)

Advent Calendar Day 16: Christmas on Rations

2016-12-16T12:00:00+00:00

The ad by the Ministry of Food suggested various Christmas recipes using the available ingredients.

The 1944 Christmas edition of Radio Times magazine included the usual Food Facts ad by the Ministry of Food about how to make the best out of what was available at the time to make "Christmas Fancies."

More advice was available on radio thanks to The Kitchen Front, a daily programme devised by the �� and the Ministry of Food to "talk about what to eat and where to get it" - the idea was to give wartime housewives hints and tips on the best and most resourceful ways of using their rations.

Browsing through the episodes provides a good glimpse into wartime daily life - suggestions on how to make mincemeat without suet, talks from women writers, guest appearances by "men in the kitchen" and, of course, some comedy to take the mind away from it all.

Frederick Grisewood on The Kitchen Front, March 1941.

Advent Calendar Day 15: A Christmas at War

2016-12-15T07:00:00+00:00

Christmas 1940 was celebrated by Radio Times with this iconic festive cover designed by cartoonist John Gilroy, well known for his posters advertising a popular brand of Irish beer.

Seasonal delights ranged from the cultural heights of Bach's Christmas Oratorio to the comedy of Jack Warner (later famous as Dixon of Dock Green, but at this time a comedian in Garrison Theatre) and his sisters Elsie and Doris Waters.

The speech bubble about 'this is Father Christmas reading it' is a reference to the wartime innovation of newsreaders identifying themselves to prevent enemy propaganda broadcasts passing themselves off as the official �� news.

Sunday Post: The �� in World War Two

2016-07-24T09:00:00+00:00

Prime Minister Winston Churchill, in trademark 'siren suit', broadcasts to the nation during World War Two

The Second World War was one of the single greatest defining events of the 20^th century, and so it is no surprise that it had a fundamental effect on the ��.

In many ways, the war made the �� what it is today, and closed the chapter of the ��’s early years under its first Director General, Sir John Reith.

The ��’s bosses became less commanding than Reith, although they sufficiently powerful allies to prevent the Corporation from being taken over directly by the government, which would have been a disaster for its reputation. In fact, the institution was taken to the heart of the British public during the six years of conflict far more than it had been before, and internationally it became a byword for truthful news reporting.

But the ��’s war started shakily, when initial plans to simplify output and relocate its staff to avoid the expected mass bombing of London resulted in early wartime programmes of such stultifying boredom that the Corporation came in for heavy criticism, and listeners turned to other European broadcasters for light relief.

As war had been more or less expected since the Munich crisis in late 1938, the �� had its plans well prepared. In order that its transmissions should not provide a beacon for enemy aircraft to home in on, the various Regional and National programmes were to be amalgamated into one �� Service, and the fledgling television service would be shut down.

This all duly occurred on 1 September 1939, when Germany had invaded Poland and war was clearly imminent, although the declaration – carried live on the �� – did not come for another two days. The Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, spoke the famous words at just after 11 am, following Britain's ultimatum to the Nazis to withdraw their troops:

I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany.

With all places of public entertainment shut down, the public looked to the �� for news, government announcements and light relief - but they found very little of it. The ��’s drama and Variety departments were busily being relocated to various parts of the country away from expected attacks, and the entertainment output was virtually restricted to endless organ recitals by the ��’s stalwart Sandy MacPherson.

Radio Times keeps spirits up at Christmas 1940 with a cheerful festive cover

It was actually at this time that the ��’s nickname of ‘Auntie’ came into use, reflecting people’s dissatisfaction with being given what they were expected to like and need rather than what they actually did, as if by a disapproving maiden aunt.

Gradually things improved, but there was still a discrepancy between what the �� was putting out on its single channel and what the audience wanted. By early 1940, the war that had been expected was not showing any signs of materialising, and the armies facing the Germans in France wanted something more to their taste – and that meant dance music and variety shows.

After some direct consultation with the troops, the �� started trials of a Forces Programme in January, which was formally launched the following month, and had more room for more popular fare than the �� Service.

Wartime turned out to be a period of great expansion for the ��. Its staff more than doubled over the period, despite many of its peace-time complement being called up for military service or other war work. As well as the Forces Programme, there was a great expansion in overseas services, both in English and in foreign languages. The first foreign language service had been in Arabic in 1938, to counter Italian Fascist propaganda in North Africa and the Middle East in the wake of Mussolini’s invasion of Abyssinia and rule over Libya.

With the European war starting, the �� began German broadcasts, and as serious hostilities began on the Western Front in spring 1940 with invasions of Scandinavia, the Low Countries and France, a whole raft of language services sprang up to deliver an alternative to the Nazi propaganda message – even if anyone listening to these services in occupied countries risked dire consequences.

The war also shook up the mindset of programme makers, whether in drama, variety or in the news division. Pre-war news had relied on news agencies for information, and there had been an agreement not to broadcast bulletins before 6pm to avoid affecting the sales of evening papers. Now with the need and ability to broadcast all day with the latest war news, the �� upped its number of bulletins considerably.

With other production departments scattered around the country, it took some time for them to catch up and re-establish themselves. Variety moved first to Bristol then later to Bangor in Wales, where some of the best remembered wartime shows came from.

Mrs Mopp (Dorothy Summers) and Tommy Handley with another madcap scheme in ITMA

Some pre-war comic stars carried on, such as Arthur Askey and Richard Murdoch in the earliest regular comedy series, Band Waggon. This was one of the first sitcoms, albeit of a surreal sort, with the two stars supposedly living in a penthouse apartment in Broadcasting House, although this was only one section of a longer variety show.

There were other popular comedy shows in the war period including Happidrome, and later shows like Merry-Go-Round, which featured a rotation of shows provided by Army, Navy and RAF talent. The RAF programme became Much-Binding-in-the-Marsh, which survived long after the war and united Richard Murdoch with Kenneth Horne, the latter going on to great success in the 50s and 60s with Beyond Our Ken and Round the Horne.

Another great early hit was Garrison Theatre, where cabaret artist Jack Warner compered in the persona of a soldier, memorably asking people to ‘Mind My Bike’ and reading comic letters from his brother, suitable censored with ‘blue pencil’ to provide double entrendres. Warner’s sisters, Elsie and Doris Waters, who featured as their characters Gert and Daisy, were later enlisted to deliver useful advice from government ministries.

But the paramount comedy series of the war years was It’s That Man Again – ITMA. It had begun in a small way earlier in 1939, but it was not until cast changes were enforced by the start of the war that it really started to take off. Built round the central character of Tommy Handley, ITMA was famous for its roster of eccentric guest characters, each with their distinctive and obligatory catchphrase, including Mrs Mopp – ‘Can I do you now sir’, Colonel Chinstrap – ‘I don’t mind if I do’, and Funf, the German spy – ‘Zis is Funf speaking’.

With its incredibly quick-fire delivery, satires of wartime bureaucracy and painful puns, ITMA became one of those shows truly loved by the public, who carried its jokes and references over into real life. It was to last 10 years until Tommy Handley’s untimely death in 1949.

Drama too had its part to play in wartime. The department had had something of a culture shock initially, swapping state-of-the-art equipment in Broadcasting House for more rudimentary facilities in regional studios following evacuation.

Sounds of battle

Some of the dramatic highlights included the drama documentary series The Shadow of the Swastika, which detailed the rise of the Nazi Party in Germany, and Dorothy L. Sayers’ The Man Born to Be King, controversially depicting the life of Jesus, with an actor playing that part for the first time in a modern drama. First broadcast in Children’s Hour, it was later repeated for adult listeners.

Radio continued the tradition of bringing classic drama to the bulk of people who had never experienced it in the theatre, but also featured lighter fare such as Paul Temple thriller stories, and the spine-chilling horror of Appointment with Fear, featuring Valentine Dyall as the narrator, the 'Man in Black'.

As expected, news came into its own during the war. Gradually the role of the news correspondent developed, going to war zones and starting to record the actual sounds of battle, and bringing the reality of the conflict into people’s homes.

The innovation of worldwide broadcasting also reminded troops of what they were missing at home, and what they were fighting for. War correspondents such as Richard Dimbleby, Chester Wilmot, Frank Gillard and many others risked life and limb to report from the battle front. New recording technology such as portable disc-recorders, was primitive by today’s standards, but the very idea of recording real events overrode quality considerations.

The �� had long feared the unscripted programme, as people might say things that were libellous or would offend decency, or just not get to the point. It was an innovation when one of the great hits of the war, The Brains Trust, was inaugurated.

Originally under the title Any Questions?, the idea was that people could send in questions on virtually any topic and a wide-ranging panel of experts would discuss them and give an answer. The heightened circumstances of wartime meant people were looking beyond narrow margins of what they were expected to like.

One area that reflected this was music. While there had always been a mixture of classical works and lighter music, and dance bands had proliferated with the coming of the Forces Programme, there was a greater cross-over now. Classical pianists like Myra Hess proved popular, while native British dance band talent like Lew Stone, Roy Fox and Henry Hall were augmented by American bands, once that country entered the war and US troops were stationed in the UK.

Most loved of all though were the singers – from the likes of Al Bowlly, sadly killed during an air raid in 1941 (as was the band leader Ken ‘Snake-Hips’ Johnson in a separate incident a few weeks before), to the great female singers such as Anne Shelton and the legendary Vera Lynn.

Broadcasting House on VE Day, 1945 - battle-scarred but unbowed

As the war drew to a close, the place of the �� in the national consciousness had definitely changed forever. It had adapted to the needs of the time and provided shows that got people through bombing raids, rationing, the loss of loved ones, and the sheer stress and uncertainty of the times. Auntie had become a term of affection rather than disdain.

The �� sustained its own losses: when Broadcasting House was hit by a bomb in October 1940, seven staff members were killed. Covered in plaster dust and soot, newsreader Bruce Belfrage continued with the bulletin he was reading at the time with barely a pause audible. Another later bomb severely damaged the building, while adjacent St George’s Hall and Queen’s Hall, used for musical concerts including the Proms, were damaged beyond repair. Other staff were killed in bombing raids at home, or on duty with the services overseas.

The �� came out of World War Two with its reputation enhanced both at home, and to an even greater extent abroad. With the replacement of the Forces networks with the Light Programme, and plans underway for a new high-culture Third Programme and the revival of the television service in 1946, the �� looked to the future.

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