A poem by John Griffiths
6 – 45

The hour when all the streets would clear;
when parents could at last be sure
their youngsters would be home to hear
a programme with a strange allure

Not for them the friendly voice
of Uncle Mac of Children’s Hour.
These children had another choice
that gripped them with it’s potent power

No television then to form their view;
the wireless was their open book.
Intense, exotic, a heady brew;
it snared them with its barb-ed hook

Other programmes did their best
and surely there was choice galore.
‘The Man in Black’ with tales to test
the nerve of any man-of-war

ITMA, ‘In Town Tonight’ and Billy Cotton
were family favourites every week;
but war-time kids like us, spoilt rotten,
excitement now was what we’d seek

That’s why ‘Dick Barton’ cleared the block
when every evening without fail
The ‘Special Agent’, snowy and Jock
came close to death in every tale

Each episode, hung by a thread,
they each survived, but only just.
We kids were always full of dread
that this time they might bite the dust

Sadly, the show was blamed by those
who looked for trouble, on any departures
from their ideas, the things they chose
and replaced Dick Barton with ‘The Archers’.

© John Griffiths 2017

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