BBC History - UK (2022-01)

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stuffed full of men who had fought in the

war, military metaphors and titles abounded.

Sieveking – like Cecil Lewis, an ex-pilot – re-

ferred to the BBC as an “Air Force”. Fellow

producer Lionel Fielden thought of it as a

“port in a storm”: a home-from-home for the

waifs and strays, idealists and dilettantes

who had returned from the battlefield

looking for new adventures.

Though the work was unpredictable, it

was never directionless and the BBC’s first

generation of staff found a common mission.

Their aim – as John Reith put it, quoting

Matthew Arnold’s 1869 work, Culture and

Anarchy – was to make “the best that has

been thought and known in the world

current everywhere”. Radio would be the

means of forging a civilised world from the

ashes of conflict. “We may have been silly,”

Fielden recalled, but “God save us, we really

believed that broadcasting could revolution-

ise human opinion.”

Within a few years the BBC would be

regarded as a dignified, somewhat starchy,

rather cautious national institution. For now,

though, Savoy Hill was youthful, volatile

and, above all, brimming with hope.

Through toiling away in

the studios, the BBC’s first

generation of staff found

a common mission

BBC at 100 / Part 1

David Hendy is emeritus professor at

the University of Sussex. His new book is

The BBC: A People’s History (Profile, 2022)

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At the heart of the BBC’s operations at

Savoy Hill was a simple bit of kit that

was vital to broadcasting but utterly

terrifying to many who stood before it:

the microphone. The earliest models had

been no more than telephone receivers

dangled from ceiling hooks or propped

up on stands. Before long, a more sophis-

ticated device took over: the Magneto-

phone (pictured above). This consisted of

a large, round magnet nestled in a thick

sling of spongy rubber to protect it from

vibration, mounted in a square wooden

frame or “Faraday Cage” to protect it

from electromagnetic interference.

The BBC wanted its studios to have

a homely feel, and had kitted them out

with settees and armchairs, side

By this point it looked rather like an

old-fashioned meat safe – a device used

to keep food fresh before the invention

of the fridge – and that’s precisely what

BBC insiders called it.

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guest artistes were invariably taken

aback by its presence and bizarre ap-

pearance. Accomplished actors who had

long ago overcome stage fright found

themselves experiencing the horrors of

“microphone fright”. Many confessed to

being temporarily “paralysed” upon see-

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that Hollywood star Tallulah Bankhead

slid under the table in faints.

Even those who managed to tame

their nerves often failed to grasp the

principles of the underlying technology.

When told that 2 million people around

the country would be listening to him, the

great Shakespearean actor Henry Ainley

decided that, in order to make absolutely

sure they heard him properly, he really

needed to let rip. He had to be pulled

forcibly away by two studio workers

before the transmitter was completely

blasted to pieces.

The microphone that struck fear

into the hearts of seasoned performers

IN FOCUS

Negative feedback

Arthur Burrows at the “Magnetophone”, 1922.

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Performing pioneers

Olive Sturgess (right) and John Huntingdon (rear) duet

at Marconi House in 1922. Early broadcasts were made

with scant resources and had a “distinctly ad hoc feel”

Greg Jenner is diving into the

BBC’s archive for the new Radio 4 series

Past Forward. For more details, turn to

our preview on page 88