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Radio Hallam: It’s fifty years since the BBC rebels came to town

This afternoon (Sunday 29 September),  a group of people will meet in a Sheffield city centre bar. There will be reunions, memories shared, but the event will have an air of sadness.. Friends and former work colleagues will see each other for perhaps the last time.

If things go to plan, one of those attending will be 85-year-old Keith Skues, the man responsible for giving us Radio Hallam, one of the UK’s pioneer commercial radio stations. It started broadcasting on 1 October 1974, and this coming Tuesday will be the fiftieth anniversary of its launch.

The irony is that its present owners, Bauer Media, chose its Golden Anniversary year to kill the name off – it is now Hits Radio South Yorkshire – but the spirit of the radio station, and its ability to be local, had disappeared many years ago.

Until the early 1970s, the BBC had the legal monopoly on radio broadcasting in the UK. Except for Radio Luxembourg, and for a time in the 1960s, the offshore ‘pirate’ broadcasters, UK listeners had limited choice. Edward Heath’s Conservative government changed that and allowed the introduction of commercial radio to compete with BBC local radio services.

In October 1973, London Broadcasting Company (LBC) started broadcasting, closely followed by Capital Radio, and household names like Radio Clyde, BRMB, Piccadilly Radio, Metro Radio, and Swansea Sound. A year later came the launch of Radio Hallam from studios on the upper floors of the Sheffield Newspapers building at Hartshead with its strapline – ‘It’s nice to have a radio station as a friend.’

It beat off one other consortium for the franchise, but there was a merger after the licence had been issued. The Managing Director was Bill McDonald who at one time had worked for A.C. Nielsen rolling out overnight ratings for TV across the USA. He spent some years in New York in the early 1960s with a background in newspaper and commercial radio advertising but returned to England and the newspaper business and used his expertise to attract Radio Hallam shareholders including the S&E Co-op, B&C Co-op, Sheffield Newspapers, Trident Television (owners of Yorkshire Television),  the Automobile Association, Kenning Motor Group and trade unions – USDAW and GMWU. The start-up cost for the station was £300,000 (about £3.9M today).

From the start, Radio Hallam’s strength was the ‘rebel’ disc jockeys it took from the BBC – Keith Skues as Programme Controller, Roger Moffat, Bill Crozier, and Johnny Moran, briefly joined later by Bruce Wyndham – and the emphasis was on professionalism. There had been another BBC staffer, Peter Donaldson, who was to have presented the afternoon magazine programme ‘Roundabout’ but got cold feet and left before the station launched. (Yes, it was THE Peter Donaldson, who became a BBC Radio Four icon). 

“Whilst in London I formally approached Roger Moffat (returning a favour as it turns out), Johnny Moran, and Bill Crozier, and to my amazement they all agreed to leap into the unknown and come with me to Sheffield,” said Skues. “All the time I was holding auditions for local broadcasters. We received applications from over 700 hopeful Disc Jockeys, but I could only take three, all of whom had worked with BBC local radio.”

After only a few months, a dipstick survey suggested that Hallam had 25 percent of the audience, placing it second after Radio 2 with 26 percent and ahead of Radio 1 (24 percent) and BBC Radio Sheffield (19 percent).

“Ours is a complete mixture. We are going for anybody from 18 to 40 -olds, and we get lots of requests from 70 and 80-year-olds.”” said Keith Skues at the time.

The schedule was an easy listening mixture of hit 40 and middle-of-the-road pop during the day, heavier rock and jazz for students in the evening, with minority interest programmes slotted in at the weekend.

The Top 40 singles were based on local record shop returns (remember Bradleys?); another 40 LPs were chosen by seven disc jockeys and there were twenty new releases on the playlist. The first record after the news was always from the top ten; the second was between number 11 and 40; the third was a climber (new release); the fourth was an oldie (anything from five to fifteen years); the fifth was again between 11 and 40: and the sixth was an album track. The cycle was then repeated. And Skues said that it got very high ratings. “Where Hallam does seem to score is that we don’t do a lot of chat – there are no requests, no name checks even during the format hours.” Neither were there any phone-ins, although the idea had been considered.

BBC Radio Sheffield nicknamed it as the ‘pop and prattle station,’ but the former BBC presenters impressed with their individual personalities.

Keith ‘Cardboard Shoes’ Skues (Lunch with a Punch) was determined to get into radio from a young age. Roger Moffat let him attend live broadcasts of Make Way for Music with the Northern Variety Orchestra in Manchester, and recommended the Forces Broadcasting Service as a possible route into the profession. Skues took that advice a few years later when he was called up for his National Service and posted to British Forces Network (BFN) in Cologne. He returned to the UK in 1964 to join pirate station Radio Atlanta which then merged with Radio Caroline. He joined Radio Luxembourg for the CBS Record Show and presented on Radio London until 1967 and the introduction of the Marine Broadcasting Offences Act. He was at the start of Radio 1 and remained with the BBC until leaving to set up Radio Hallam.

Keith Skues

Roger Moffat (what a bloody awful place Sheffield is) gave the station an air of irreverence: playing a blank tape after failing to interview a pop prima donna, telling the early morning disc jockey who phoned him with a live alarm call, ‘I don’t want a railway station as a friend’; deviating from the playlist, purporting to be the station’s Royal Correspondent, an obsession with ‘Royal Hackenthorpe’ and upsetting everyone whether they were a bus driver or Elvis Presley fan. He’d been sacked by the BBC three times, but was a storyteller, such a consummate one that while you never knew if it was true, it didn’t really matter.

Roger Moffat

Bill Crozier started with a middle-of-the-road late night show, ‘Cozier with Crozier’ and catered “for the old and lonely.” A distinctive figure in his opera-style cloak and his goatee beard, one of his trademarks was a twittering bird, Florence the Nightingale in the background. He also presented the evening request programme as the friendly host uncle. It came naturally to him for he had been the popular Cologne end of the BFN/BBC Two-Way Family Favourites programme with Jean Metcalfe from 1958 to 1965. After BFN, Crozier switched to the BBC’s Light Programme and Radio 2 which best suited his choice of music from the forties and fifties. He was also a producer of the Jimmy Young Show.

Bill Crozier

As breakfast show presenter, Johnny Moran was the first DJ heard on Hallam. His mother Phillis had emigrated from Sheffield, and now found himself in her home city via Radio Luxembourg and Radio One. Skues had re-established contact with Moran at a party given for the singer Barry White, and with his BBC career over, he’d been plying his trade for the British Forces Radio Network and was keen to make the switch. Famously, the first record he played on Hallam was Kiki Dee’s ‘I’ve Got the Music in Me’ that stuck after a couple of minutes.

Johnny Moran in Studio B. Image: Hallam Memories

Let us not forget Bruce Wyndham (because we have), a man with a theatrical background whose family had connections with the Wyndham Theatre in London. He joined the BBC in 1948 and remained until 1976 before tasting commercial radio with Radio 210 in Reading and Radio Hallam in 1978. “A lovely cheerful character who would always crack a joke at his own expense,” said Alan Biggs who had to report the death of his colleague after he’d collapsed and died at the station while preparing for a late night programme.

Bruce Wyndham

Aside from the BBC personalities, Radio Hallam would introduce other presenters during these golden years – Ray Stuart, Colin Slade, Kelly Temple, Brenda Ellison, Cindy Kent, Gerry Kersey, Dave Kilner, Dean Pepall, Howard Pressman and many more – and furthered the careers of future radio industry heavyweights like Ian Rufus, Stuart Linell, and Ralph Bernard.

Let’s not be mistaken for thinking that it was all about music because the early independent local radio stations had to be friends to everyone – including every music genre – and phonographic performance rules meant that they were restricted to the amount of needle time played on air. The gaps in-between were given over to talk  content. Radio Hallam’s news was local, operating throughout the day, and into the night. One of its quirks was that it was at five minutes to the hour – three minutes to at weekends – allowing the station to play music when other radio stations were breaking for news.

There were feature programmes (Grapevine/Hallam Forum) and there were home-produced dramas like the five episodes of Dying for a Drink (1978) and Down to Earth – a story of coal and colliers (1979).  

Roger Moffat at Radio Hallam. Photograph: Picture Sheffield

But things could not last.

“Roger Moffat had his ups and downs and in one of them he lost his temper with us and he went off,” said Bill McDonald.  He left Hallam in December 1981, resurfacing two years later with a Saturday morning show on BBC Radio Sheffield. “This is your last chance, Moffat. Your last ditch.” According to who you believe, the programme was phased out after a few weeks, or was it two years? Regardless, he gave up the job because of ill-health. He returned to Radio Hallam one more time, to record his obituary programme that was broadcast after his death (aged 59) in 1986. His unusual last wish was fulfilled a year later when his ashes were scattered over three far flung locations. His former colleague and friend Keith Skues helped pilot a Piper Seneca to scatter the ashes over Skye, the Channel Islands… and the Sheffield suburb of Hackenthorpe.

Bill Crozier left Hallam in 1980 and returned south where he did freelance work for the BBC, but came back to Sheffield and lived at Bradway. He died in 1994, aged 69. He was replaced on the request show by Gerry Kersey who said that “He was a very gentle broadcaster who knew the art of using silence, more than anybody I know.”

Johnny Moran switched to afternoons in the mid eighties before leaving Hallam and working briefly for Magic 828 in Leeds, and then for Classic Gold in Bradford, before disappearing completely from public view. Believed to have settled in Devon and France, he died, aged 78, in September 2022.

That leaves one survivor from those ‘rebel’ BBC DJs, and this afternoon he will take centre stage amongst former colleagues  

In 1986, Radio Hallam merged with two other radio stations – Viking Radio in Hull and Bradford’s Pennine Radio – to form Yorkshire and Humberside Independent Radio (later the Yorkshire Radio Network). The stations retained their local identity but shared programmes through the evening.

Keith Skues had reportedly become disillusioned after the merger and left to take up the role of programme controller for YRN’s Classic Gold service when it launched in May 1989. The takeover by Newcastle’s Metro Radio in October 1990 ended one of commercial radio’s longest partnerships, with Bill McDonald (in charge of YRN) retiring and Skues taking temporary leave as a reservist for the RAF in the Gulf War. When he returned in December he found that he had been sacked by the new owners. 

With a twist of fate, Skues presented BBC Radio Sheffield’s afternoon show in 1991, and had a brief spell back on BBC Radio 2. He moved to the BBC in the Eastern Counties in 1995 presenting a weekday late night show (loved by the late John Peel), and in semi-retirement presented the Sunday late show for fifteen years until 2020. 

“When I was 19 or 20 I was in the right place at the right time and, having reached 500 editions of the Sunday show, it’s perhaps the ideal opportunity to retire.”

He said recently that the proudest moment of his career had been the creation of Radio Hallam.

In 1991, the Metro Group retired Hallam’s Hartshead studios and moved everything to the unlikeliest of locations, former brewery offices at Herries Road. 

Sometime before his hasty departure, Roger Moffat had a war of words in Hallam’s offices. “Moffat, you are a has been” said a young DJ. “Yes,” he replied. “But at least I HAS been.” That conversation might now refer to Radio Hallam itself.

Radio Hallam studio in 1975
Keith Skues presented his last show for the BBC in 2020

© 2024 David Poole. All Rights Reserved

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People

“There was a tremendous explosion as a bomb landed outside the Stage Door.”

Henry Hall performed regularly on BBC Radio during the British dance band era of the 1920s and 1930s

If there had been radio DJs in the 1920s and 1930s, then Henry Hall would have been the equivalent of Terry Wogan, or Ken Bruce. But there were no such things as DJs, and the adoration that existed belonged to bandleaders like Henry Hall, who brought music to the BBC’s infant airwaves.

Henry Hall (1898 – 1989) was born in Peckham, South London, and had no connections with Sheffield. He played from the 1920s to the 1950s, and in 1932 recorded the song Teddy Bear’s Picnic which gained enormous popularity and sold over a million copies.

Hall became bandleader of the BBC Dance Orchestra, and from 5.15 each weekday he gathered a huge following with his signature tune ‘It’s Just the Time for Dancing’ and usually ended with ‘Here’s to the Next Time’.

In 1937, he left the BBC Dance Orchestra to tour with his band, and this brings us nicely to Thursday 12 December 1940. 

It was the Second World War, and Henry Hall and his Band were in Sheffield to play at the Empire Theatre on Charles Street at its corner with Union Street.

What follows next is an extraordinary account of wartime Sheffield that I stumbled upon while reading Hall’s autobiography – Here’s to the Next Time – that was published in 1955.

“On Wednesday evening I had supper after the show in the Grand Hotel (now the site of Fountain Precinct) with Jack Buchanan and Fred Emney, who were rehearsing for the forthcoming pantomime. We talked, I remember, of how Sheffield should be quite safe, as it was protected by having a decoy village built some distance outside the town.

“The following evening the warning went, and the German bombers missed the decoy completely and began to bomb the centre of Sheffield!

“One of the first incendiaries landed in front of the Empire just before we were due to appear. The manager, Fred Neate, dashed round and asked me to play one number, then announce that there was a fire and would the audience please leave as quietly as possible. 

“I walked on to the stage and said, ‘We should like to play you the popular song, Six Lessons from Madame Lazongo,’ and almost before we began there was a tremendous explosion as a bomb landed outside the Stage Door, wrecking the side of the theatre. 

“Luckily the stage itself stayed put, so we finished the number. I made the announcement as requested and we went into one of Freddie Mann’s comedy numbers, The Musical Typist, while the audience left in a hurry. It was a very fast number, but it had never been quite so fast as Freddie played it that night! 

“We stood in the safest looking corridor for some three hours until there was a lull, and then I made a dash for the Grand where I was staying, only a few hundred yards away. 

“Just before I reached the hotel the bombs began to fall again, and I was literally blown through the swing doors to land on the foyer carpet. When I had recovered sufficiently I joined the rest of the guests in the restaurant, which was thought to be directly under the main block of the hotel and consequently the safest place.

“As soon as the all clear sounded, about seven in the morning, I went to the theatre to try to make arrangements. It was out of commission, transport everywhere was disorganised and no trains were running. I left a notice asking all who could to meet outside The Sheffield Daily Telegraph Office at 10.30, when there would be transport to Chesterfield. Then I dashed back to the hotel to try to arrange it. 

“Because of the dislocation of communication, I had to do it by six ‘phone calls. I rang the stage manager on one exchange, he rang a friend, and so on, until someone got through to Chesterfield and brought a coach over. 

“With all my journeys between theatre and hotel, the orchestra had lost all trace of me, and were astounded when I arrived for the coach – my constant disappearances had led to me being ‘posted missing.’ 

“However, we got safely to Chesterfield, caught the midday train to Bristol and arrived at midnight just in time to hear their sirens beginning to blow!”

Empire Theatre, Charles Street. Opened 1895. Closed May 1959 and demolished the following year. Image: Picture Sheffield
Air raid damage at the Empire Theatre. Image: Picture Sheffield

How lucky most of us are to have never witnessed such scenes!

This story leads to one that my dad told me recently,  and would have taken place at the same time that Hall was desperately arranging his transport away from Sheffield.

He was eleven, and the morning after, walked with his Aunty Vera from Milton Street to Grimesthorpe to make sure that her boyfriend Jim’s family had survived. 

“At the top of The Moor, Woolworths was a sheet of fire, and there were bodies laying in the road, and that was a sobering sight. But I realised that they weren’t bodies after all,  but were actually mannequins that had been blown out of the shop.

“Pinstone Street was closed for access, and so we diverted along Union Street but found it blocked by rubble from the Empire Theatre that had collapsed into the road. We climbed up and over the debris before continuing along Norfolk Street, into Fitzalan Square, then down Haymarket and on to the Wicker. Most buildings were ruined and ablaze.

“At Wicker Arches, a bomb had gone straight through the railway line and through the bridge without exploding (the repairs still visible today), but we still managed to get through, and there was a place on Spital Hill that had wooden chairs piled high and had caught fire and were well ablaze.

“We walked all the way to Grimesthorpe and after finding that the Wells family was safe, walked all the way back again.”

Alas, for the Empire Theatre, it lost one of its two turrets which capped the towers on either side of the facade, and buildings on either side of the theatre were destroyed. It closed in May 1959 after being sold to a developer and was demolished two months later. 

The Grand Hotel, which fronted onto Balm Green in the city centre, is seen here in its early days from the Leopold Street side. Image: Charlie Smith
Former site of the Empire Theatre at corner of Union Street/Charles Street

© 2024 David Poole. All Rights Reserved.

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Other Places

The first television pictures in Sheffield

Radio equipment and T.V. experimentation’ masts and station, Dore Moor, near Newfield Lane, in 1938. The house was built in 1934 and called Newfield. Photograph by Picture Sheffield

I wonder how we might have survived without TV during the lockdown. It makes this story from almost 88 years ago even more remarkable and shows how far technology has advanced in a relatively short space of time.

In 1938, in a secret experimenting room on the remote outskirts of Sheffield, three men had received television programmes from London. One September night, George W. Bagshaw, K. Hopkinson and G. Thompson, all employees of mail order company, J.G. Graves, managed to receive an almost perfect picture and sound.

The television receiver used was the only one in the north of England and had been built by the three amateur radio enthusiasts, led by Bagshaw, the manager of the wireless department at Graves Ltd.

This was thought to be the first time that anybody had received television programmes in Sheffield.

The television pictures were being broadcast by the BBC from Alexandra Palace to the London area. It started broadcasting in 1936, followed by the first outside broadcast in May 1937, the Coronation of King George VI.

The receiver was installed at Dore Moor, near Newfields Lane, the only giveaway being two large latticed wireless masts, which few people knew what they were for.

Bagshaw said that he had been receiving pictures for three weeks, the gap between London and Sheffield being one of the greatest distances that pictures had been transmitted.

“It was thought that television had a visual range as far as the eye could see. That is its true range, but it is possible to receive from greater distances,” Bagshaw told the Daily Independent.

“Working on ultra-short waves, pictures have been received further than was at first thought possible, and I have found that I can receive transmissions from Alexandra Palace.

“In Sheffield, we are 160 miles away from the transmitter, and it cannot be expected that our pictures are as clear as those in the London area.

“However, we have obtained pictures which, although they might not suit the critical onlooker, are very satisfying to the experimenter.”

Mr Bagshaw had been experimenting in television since its inception, and the first station was in the radio department of J.G. Graves, but after a time it was realised that interference from motor-cars and trams were hindering progress.

Photograph by Picture Sheffield

The site at Dore Moor had been chosen because it was almost ideal for radio work. It was 750 feet above sea level, remote from roads and electrical interference.

In the station was a bewildering collection of radio apparatus. The workshop was only small, but large enough to contain all its necessary equipment. The shed, built in 1936, housed over a thousand pounds worth of apparatus, with five short-wave transmitters and several ultra-short-wave receivers. The two radio masts on the site, nearly eighty feet high, both carried a large aerial.

BBC television schedule for Tuesday August 30 1938. These programmes were received in Sheffield. Photograph by The British Newspaper Archive.

Unfortunately, when the Daily Independent visited Dore Moor for a demonstration of television pictures, thundery conditions prevented the signals reaching Sheffield.

Asked for his views on the future of television in Sheffield, Mr Bagshaw pointed out that results were only obtained outside London by using very intricate and expensive apparatus and having special receivers.

Until there was a local transmitter there was little prospect of Sheffield people being able to receive television.

So far as the provinces were concerned, he thought the BBC and the Post Office were waiting for a better response in London before they put up provincial stations.

The first step towards the opening of a provincial station was thought to be the completion of a special cable between London and Birmingham, but as that cable had been completed some time before, and there was no news of a Birmingham transmitter, it was thought in radio circles that either the cable was not satisfactory in a technical sense, or the Post Office thought it much more useful for multi-channel trunk lines.

“The solution to the provincial station is a radio-link, which means using ultra-high-frequency transmitters between towns to convey television, sound and speech.

“All this is a very expensive undertaking, and to cater for the whole country at present would appear to be prohibitive in cost,” he added.

Sadly, despite the sale of 20,000 TV sets in the London area, the service was immediately shut down when World War Two started in September 1939. Transmissions didn’t resume until 1946, with a Midlands transmitter opening in 1949, and one for the North two years later.

Photograph by Picture Sheffield