Southerly by David Haywood

Each week we improve our English by learning about the Brown family of England. Over the past year our language skills have improved, and we have learnt much about the culture and mentality of the English-speaking people.

This final part of the series contains five lessons. Take your time and read carefully through each exercise. By the end of the lessons you should be able to host your own English-language television series, or even write a Booker prize-winning novel!

XLVI. Mr. Brown Goes to Court

In England, you are allowed to smoke in the cinema. "Today we shall all go to the cinema," said Mr. Brown.

The Brown family took an omnibus into town. Every Englishman likes to eat fish and chips when he visits the cinema. "Five kilograms of fish and chips, please," said Mr. Brown. "Do you like fish and chips?"

"Yes, I am an Englishman," replied the cinema attendant.

"I too am an Englishman," said Mr. Brown, "but I do not wish to buy fish and chips for Klaus, my daughter's boyfriend."

"Klaus shall buy his own fish and chips," said Gretchen.

Inside the cinema, everyone had a cigarette. Later that afternoon, Mr. Brown went to court.

In England, they do not have a judge. Twelve Englishman decide whether a criminal is innocent or guilty. This is called the jury system. Blind people are not allowed in court. "Mr. Hans Brown is innocent," said the foreman of the jury.

"Now I am free to marry Nanny," said Mr. Brown.

Above: Blind people are not allowed in an English court.

XLVII. A Visit to Buckingham Palace

In England, married couples must sleep in separate bedrooms. "I am now the new Mrs. Brown," said Nanny happily.

"Let us have maypole-dancing," announced Mr. Brown, "as is our usual English custom after a wedding."

"Sexual education is forbidden in British schools," said Nanny as she danced. "Therefore I believe that maypole dancing will bring me children. How ignorant we Englishmen are!"

After the dancing, the Brown family went to visit the Queen at Buckingham Palace.

"In England, we have the class system," said the tour guide. "If you are a king or a queen you are required to marry from the upper (or bottom) class. Englishmen of this class do not like women, therefore the English queen must marry a German like King Albert."

"Was King Albert clever and handsome?" asked Gretchen.

"Yes, and he also produced many offspring," said the tour guide. "He is our greatest monarch. All English people agree on this."

Above: Upper-class Englishmen do not enjoy women.

XLVIII. At Public House

One evening, Klaus took Mr. Brown for a drink at Public House. "Let us sing a rousing drink-song," said Klaus.

"In England we do not sing drink-songs," said Mr. Brown severely. "We Englishmen must play wearisome games such as dominoes, shove-ha'penny, or darts."

"This is correct," said Klaus. "As an Englishman I have known this since childhood."

"In England," said Mr. Brown, "many young boys find employment as chimney-sweeps. If they are orphans they must sleep in a coffin. Every Christmas I send them an orange."

"When I go to the circus I amuse myself by throwing coconuts at a stick," said the barman.

"Yes," said Mr. Brown. "The English mentality is very strange. We permit chicken-fighting, and yet we love all animals. Every Christmas I shoot a fox for dinner."

"Perhaps, after we are drunk, we may address each other by the intimate 'you'," suggested Klaus.

Above: A typical English family prepare for Christmas dinner.

XLIX. At the Doctor

In England, you may visit the dentist for free. "The dentist has drilled holes in my teeth, and filled them with molten lead," said Gretchen.

"This is the way we Englishmen prefer to have our teeth," said Nanny. "When you are older they will fall out, and you shall have false teeth instead."

"Now I must go to the doctor," said Gretchen, "because the dentist's poor hygiene has given me a disease."

In the doctor's waiting area, Gretchen and Nanny sat next to a retarded-looking man.

"Is this person a tramp?" Nanny asked the nurse.

"He is an Englishman from New Zealand," said the nurse. "His back is very painful."

"Despite my urgent condition I shall let him go before me," decided Gretchen. "He is very brave to suffer such a serious condition without complaint."

"Yes, he is the bravest patient we have ever had," said the nurse.

Above: English teeth.

L. At the Seaside

At summer the Brown family took an omnibus to the seaside. "You shall play in the rain all holidays," said Nanny to the children.

"I shall drink beer for supper," said Mr. Brown. "This is a typical English seaside meal."

"In England," said Miss Brown, "it is permissible to build sandcastles taller than 30 centimetres."

"Yes, how disorganized we are," said Gretchen. "Our fellow Englishmen will ruin the beach by building sandcastles of an anti-social size."

"We should move to a properly-organized country like Germany," said Nanny.

"I do not wish to visit Germany," said Klaus. "I do not like the Germans because they are so hard-working. I am a jealous Englishman."

"You have the lazy English way of doing things," said Mr. Brown. But Klaus was silent. He had been poisoned.

"Now we must display him in the front garden for three days," said Mr. Brown.

Above: A typical English seaside meal.

ANNOUNCEMENT: English Writing Competition!

Has your English improved? Why not show off your newly acquired language skills by entering our English writing competition! Simply write your own final chapter to 'Learning English with the Browns' and submit it here.

• Entries should be between 140 and 160 words in length.
• Entries should be submitted by Wednesday, 20 December 2006.
• The winning entry (and selected finalists) will be published on Public Address on Friday, 22nd December 2006.

First prize is a brand new copy of Struwwelpeter -- one of English literature's greatest works!

Above: First prize.

On a recent assignment for Avenues Magazine I had the pleasure of working with American photographer Brian Harmon. Although he has only lived in this country for a few years, Brian has managed to capture some extraordinary images of New Zealand. He's a photographer who is absolutely packed to the brim with talent and ability. Unfortunately, he is also a photographer who likes to get up early in the morning.

Brian: I was thinking of starting quite early.

Me: Ten o'clock?

Brian: I was thinking more like five.

We were spending a day with one of the last commercial fishermen on Lake Ellesmere. I tried to imagine five o'clock at the lake on a winter morning. It seemed inconceivable that anyone would want to subject themselves to such horror.

As I scraped ice from my car's windscreen at half-past five the next morning, I cursed Brian and his entire profession. We had compromised on seven o'clock: which still required me to leave my house at an ungodly hour. And yet somehow -- as I drove through an empty and slumbering Christchurch, and into the pre-dawn countryside -- I began to see that Brian might have a point.

It was good to be awake, and to be getting the most out of the day. In fact, I began to pity my fellow citizens lying in their beds. They were snoozing their lives away -- whereas I was making each minute count. I resolved to rise this early every morning from now on. I would seek new employment at a worthy organization. I would donate half of my income to sick children. I drifted into a reverie as I contemplated how beautiful my life would become.

My car sped into the darkness: past the lights of Lincoln University; through the townships of Springston, Doyleston, and Leeston; and finally into Southbridge. After Southbridge I turned off the main road, and bumped along a gravel track to the village of Fisherman's Point. The peak of Mount Herbert was turning pink in the distance. Lake Ellesmere lay before me like a gigantic black tablecloth.

Brian's car was parked beside the lakeshore. "Decided I might as well get here at five anyway," he said. "I've got some nice shots of the dawn." He was bristling with cameras and enthusiasm. "Can't wait to get out on that lake and shoot some more film," he added.

His cheerfulness was already exhausting me. I felt an overwhelming urge to go home and return to bed. But in Fisherman's Point village, people were beginning to wake up. A light was switched on in a kitchen window. Smoke began to puff from one of the chimneys. Brian and I wandered down the main street. Our friendly fisherman, Clem Smith, lived in the last cottage before the harbour.

Clem was loading fuel cans into his ute. He was obviously a man who didn't believe in wasting words. "Gidday," he said. "We've got to drop by Malcolm's place, and pick up some long-fin eels for release."

Malcolm's hut was a only few hundred metres down the road. In his backyard, a row of deceased eels were waving stiffly in the breeze -- strung out on a whata to dry. Half-a-dozen live eels were writhing uneasily in a barrel beside the hut. Clem explained that low lake levels over recent years have meant that eels can't return to the sea by themselves. The lake fishermen must release some of their catch into the ocean, so that the eels can breed and maintain the population in Ellesmere.

It was a short drive to the sea. Malcolm's grand-nephew Taura helped Clem to empty the barrel out onto the beach. Clem's dog went barking mad at the eels, and Brian's camera clicked like a Geiger counter as he recorded their slithering journey into the waves.

Back at Lake Ellesmere the fishing boat was ready to go. I climbed aboard and immediately fell over -- hitting my head painfully on the fish hold. This seemed to give everyone a good laugh. To my surprise, Clem's boat was something of a speed machine, skimming along the surface of the lake at a tremendous rate, and amplifying the wind-chill to Antarctic proportions. Even Brian looked slightly chastened by the icy breeze.

We stopped at the first net, and Clem and Taura lowered themselves over the side of the boat. I winced with sympathetic hypothermia as they waded waist-deep through the wintry lake water. They lifted the net -- heavy and swollen with eels -- and Malcolm grunted with exertion as he hoisted it into the fish hold.

Clem, Malcolm, and Taura are the inheritors of a 150-year tradition of commercial fishing on the lake. In the late 1800s, at the height of the Ellesmere fishing industry, more than a hundred commercial fisherman worked here. In those days Ellesmere was the fourth-largest lake in New Zealand. Since then a third of the lake has been drained, and Ellesmere has dropped down the rankings to fifth-largest.

Nowadays the lake's area is just under 200 square kilometres. But when viewed from the swaying deck of a fishing boat it still looks unbelievably vast. It seems inconceivable that such a large body of water could be on the verge of environmental collapse.

Unfortunately, however, Lake Ellesmere's failing health is well documented. An Environment Court judge recently declared it to be eutrophic -- so polluted by nitrogen and phosphate compounds that algal growth has become over-stimulated. This is a hazardous state for a lake ecosystem. As the rampant algal growth decomposes it causes a reduction in the dissolved oxygen content of the lake water. Oxygen levels may eventually become so low that fish life will be unable to survive.

The eutrophication of Lake Ellesmere is the result of three main factors. Firstly, Ellesmere's 2,700 square kilometre catchment area produces a large inflow of fertilizer, animal waste, and industrial run-off. Secondly, the filtering wetlands which previously surrounded the lake have been largely destroyed. And thirdly, the lowland streams which feed into Ellesmere have been severely reduced in flow.

This last factor may be the final nail in the coffin. The reduced stream inflows are thought to be caused by excessive water extraction from aquifers in the countryside surrounding Ellesmere. As the stream inflows diminish, the pollutants in the lake become more concentrated, and the rate of eutrophication increases. With the rapid conversion of the Canterbury plains to dairying there is no expectation that the extraction of water will be reduced. In fact, it is anticipated that vastly increased amounts will need to be pumped from the ground.

All of this suggests a grim future for the lake. And it seems extraordinary that Ellesmere -- one of Canterbury's iconic landmarks -- might deteriorate into a large muddy puddle without any real public awareness of our loss. I had spent a fascinating day on the lake with Clem, but as I drove home I wondered if Ellesmere's precarious future might not be a better subject for an article. By a happy co-incidence, Jon Gadsby (the editor of Avenues magazine) agreed with me, and cheerfully accepted an environmental piece about a lake in lieu of a human-interest story on fishermen.

A few weeks after the article was published I had an interesting conversation. An acquaintance suggested that I had been too idealistic in my analysis. "Humans are part of the ecosystem as well," he pointed out. "We can't stop living our lives just because Ellesmere is in trouble. Lakes only have a finite existence -- and you should just accept that Ellesmere is finished. The sensible approach is to drain as much of the lake as possible, and turn it into pasture. Two hundred square kilometres would make a lot of dairy farms."

I would certainly agree that humans are part of the ecosystem, and I am pragmatic enough to accept the significant impact that we must make on the environment. But the loss of Lake Ellesmere is a heavy price to bear. If we give up on our fifth largest lake -- a piece of landscape big enough to be easily visible from space -- then where do we stop?

Since writing the article on Ellesmere I've kept sporadically in touch with Clem Smith. It transpires that his economy in spoken language is counteracted by an abundance of written prose. He is the author of numerous short stories -- beautifully-crafted observations on the human condition -- ranging from descriptions of office romances to affectionate portrayals of family life. It is extraordinary work, particularly from the pen of a bachelor fisherman.

On cold Canterbury days -- when the southerly rolls in and the rain hammers down -- I often imagine Clem out on the lake planning his stories. I'd like to think that in twenty years time Lake Ellesmere will still be there, and Clem too. Lifting his eel nets, and contemplating the human condition.

More on Lake Ellesmere:

1. Brian Harmon has generously made a selection of his Ellesmere photographs available online.
2. Avenues magazine have kindly allowed online access to my original article which provides much more detailed information on Ellesmere.
3. The Waihora Ellesmere Trust (WET) has recently been formed with the aim of improving the health and biodiversity of Lake Ellesmere. Their website can be found here.

All images used in this post © Brian Harmon, 2006.

ACT I: Rosemary McLeod is in her sitting room, putting the finishing touches on a macramé lampshade. A large heterosexual-only choir stands next to the television set.

Rosemary McLeod [spoken]:
Once upon a time
not too long ago,
this was a proud nation
where men were real men --
in the good old days,
before gays...

[She begins to sing] (aria agitata):

They wear designer clothing,
they make their houses arty,
They put on special underwear,
and join the Labour party.

Everyone's gay! Everyone's gay!
It makes me feel quite faint,
Everyone's gay! Everyone's gay!
Except the ones who ain't.
They've got them in the government,
It's not against the law,
I'm sure they're plotting something,
Some gayness I'll abhor.

(Recitative):
Who's under-represented in the crime statistics?

Choir:
The gays, the gays!

Rosemary McLeod:
Who helps to fund hip replacement surgery by paying more tax per capita than any other group?

Choir:
The gays, the gays!

Rosemary McLeod:
Who needs to mend their ways?

Choir:
It's the gays!

ACT II: Rosemary McLeod puts aside the lampshade, and begins to embroider a toilet-roll cover. The doorbell rings. Deborah Coddington has arrived -- accompanied by a large non-Asian choir.

Deborah Coddington:
What a beautiful toilet-roll cover! For some reason it reminds me of a little girl I once knew -- a girl called Deborah Coddington.

[She begins to sing her aria d'entrata]:

Gather round, gather round,
There's a tale I must tell,
Of Asian immigration,
And a country gone to hell...

Choir:
Do tell... Do tell...

Deborah Coddington (aria di sorbetto):
I dislike Asians,
of all persuasions,
At first they came as miners,
now they're poaching our crustaceans.

They've sim'lar looks,
they read maths books,
Take it from an expert,
that they're just a bunch of crooks.

Choir:
Oh yes!
Their crimes are paid,
by our legal aid.

Likely Lad:
They pimp and they murder,
They manufacture 'P',
I've anecdotal evidence,
That they've given me TB.

Deborah Coddington:
Who's ruined this great nation?

Choir:
It's the Asians!

ACT III: Rosemary McLeod and Deborah Coddington circle each other warily. Members of the choir perform a threatening ballet routine. The atmosphere of tension in the sitting room reaches a crescendo point.

(Recitative):

Rosemary McLeod:
But I absolutely insist that the gays are ruining this country!

Deborah Coddington:
And I insist that it's the Asians!

Rosemary McLeod:
The only reasonable response --
is to stab you with this crewel needle!

Deborah Coddington:
Not if I stab you first!

[They begin to wrestle in a vaguely titillating manner].

ACT IV: The wrestling continues for several minutes. Eventually the protagonists separate -- both of them panting with exhaustion. The doorbell rings. The pizza delivery man has arrived. He works part-time for the pizza company, but unbeknownst to McLeod and Coddington, he is also a full-time member of an Asian homosexual conspiracy group.

Pizza Delivery Man:
Three cheers! Three cheers!
I'm a gay Asian conspirator...

Rosemary McLeod & Deborah Coddington [brandishing their crewel needles]:
Die, you politically correct monkey!

[They plunge the crewel needles into his heart.]

Pizza Delivery Man:
I been stabbed, I've been stabbed,
It's such bad luck for me,
I been stabbed, I've been stabbed,
my great conspiracy
has been foiled,
by needles
designed for embroidery.
This is goodbye!

... oh wait,
I believe I feel
a little better.
[He dies].

Garth George [enters stage left]:
Look everyone -- a rainbow! It's God's promise to send all the gays and Asians back!

Everyone:
Hooray! All our problems are over!

THE END

As part of the launch of Public Address System, we are proud to present a new educational series entitled 'Learning English with the Browns'.

This first part of the series contains five lessons. Take your time and read carefully through each English lesson. By the end of the series you should be able to hold a rudimentary conversation, or study simple subjects at a university.

So now... let's learn English!

I. Introducing the Browns

The Brown family live together in England. Mr. Brown has a car, but it is not a German car. It is a British car.

Most Englishmen have roast beef for dinner. "What would you like for dinner, today?" asked Mrs. Brown.

"Roast beef, please," said Mr. Brown.

Some Englishmen eat sausage at breakfast. However, it is not like German sausage.

One morning Mr. Brown awoke before his wife. "Are you awake, Hildegard?" he asked. Hildegard was not awake. She had died during the night.

When someone dies in England, the body is displayed in the front garden for three days. At the funeral no-one was very upset. Englishmen do not cry.

"Tomorrow, if it is fine, I shall go to the grocer," said Mr. Brown.

Above: When someone dies in England, the body is displayed in the front garden for three days.

II. At the Grocer

In England they do not have supermarkets. They go to a 'grocer' instead. "Hello, I wish to buy some sausage," said Mr. Brown.

"Yes, you may buy some sausage," said the Grocer. "However we do not have Knockwurst, or Blutwurst, or even Wienerwurst. We only have English sausage."

"That is good," said Mr. Brown. "I am an Englishman, so I like English sausage."

In England they usually drink beer at breakfast. "I also wish to buy some Weissbier for breakfast," said Mr. Brown.

"But we are an English grocer," said the Grocer. "We do not sell Weissbier."

"Good," said Mr. Brown. "Then I would like two litres of English beer, please. I do not mind English beer, because I am an Englishman."

"You cannot take your groceries with you," said the Grocer, "an errand-boy will deliver them later."

"Yes, I know, this is the way we shop in England," said Mr. Brown.

Above: English sausage.

III. A Surprise Visitor

Most Englishmen do not die of natural causes. Usually, they are poisoned.

A policemen came to see Mr. Brown. "Hello, Bobby," said Mr. Brown. In England, all policemen are called Bobby. English policemen are famous for being the most honest in the world.

"Do you speak English?" asked Mr. Brown.

"Yes," said Bobby, "I am a typical Englishman. In England, the police do not carry sidearms."

"I am also a typical Englishman," said Mr. Brown, "I speak very good English."

"We have had a report on Mrs. Brown's death from the Gerichtsmediziner," said Bobby. "As per usual, she was poisoned."

"Will you take 100 Euros to forget all about it?" asked Mr. Brown quietly.

"No," said Bobby, "because I am the most honest policeman in the world."

Mr. Brown was joking. Bobby was joking, too. This is the famous English sense of humour.

"Would you accompany me to the police station now," said Bobby.

Above: In England, all policemen are called Bobby.

IV. The Brown Daughters

Mr. Brown has two daughters. In England, the eldest unmarried daughter is always called by the family name. Only younger daughters are called by their first names.

Mr. Brown's daughters are called Gretchen and Miss Brown. "What did you do at school today?" asked Mr. Brown.

"We do not have to study for the Abitur in England, so I did nothing at all!" said Gretchen. "This is because I am English. All Englishmen are very lazy at school."

"My school has a uniform," said Miss Brown. "We English girls do not have boys at our school. Boys go to a different place called Public School. All schools are like this in England."

"And we do not learn German at school," said Gretchen. "The Germans are very hard-working and can learn many languages, but we only learn English."

"In England," said Mr. Brown, "we do not have a judge. We use the jury system."

Above: A typical English jury.

V. At the Bibliothek

One day Miss Brown said: "Now I shall go to the bibliothek with my boyfriend, Klaus. Like me, he is a typical Englishman."

Gretchen stayed at home with the babysitter. All English children must have a babysitter. The babysitter was an Englishwoman called Hildegard. However, in England, all babysitters are called Nanny. "Would you like a cup of tea, Mr. Brown?" asked Nanny.

Miss Brown did not come home until dinner-time the next day. After they had eaten roast beef, Mr. Brown asked her where she had been.

"The car was broken," said Miss Brown. "It is a British car."

"But why did you not call us on your handy?" asked Nanny.

"My handy is also broken," said Miss Brown. "It is not a German handy. It is British."

"That is an extremely satisfactory answer," said Mr. Brown. "I shall now have some more roast beef."

Above: A modern British handy.

NEXT WEEK: The Brown family go to the cinema.

A few weeks ago I was watching television with my seven-year-old niece, and found myself saying the following words: "When I was your age we had a television set that ran on valves."

"Valves?" said my niece.

"Yes, and it was wooden. Except for the screen, of course."

My niece frowned. "I thought you said it was made out of valves."

"It ran on valves," I explained, "but it was made out of wood".

Our conversation lapsed into silence. We were watching a programme called Super Robot Monkey Team Hyperforce Go! The Super Robot Monkey Team were visiting a planet with the annoying name of 'Shuggazoom'.

"Children's television programmes were much better in my day," I observed. "I mean, doesn't this strike you as a bit childish?"

"I don't really mind," said my niece.

I went into the kitchen, where Jennifer was cooking dinner. "What are the five greatest children's television programmes of all time?" I asked her.

"It's a subject about which I have absolutely no opinion," said Jennifer. "But something tells me that you already have strong convictions on the question. Perhaps you can write an article about it, and then I can study it carefully when it gets published. I probably wouldn't comprehend the full brilliance of your analysis if you told me right now," she added.

"Or better yet," I suggested, "I could write the article, and read it aloud to you at the same time." I took out my notebook and cleared my throat.

1. The Tomorrow People

The first Tomorrow People episode was broadcast on ITV in 1973, but it wasn't shown in New Zealand until the late 1970s. It was so good that I used to run home from school so that I wouldn't miss it. The opening credits were brilliant, and featured alternating images of an unfolding hand, the Tomorrow People's faces, and a sliced capsicum.

The ingenious plot involved a group of teenagers who had somehow ascended to the next step of the evolutionary ladder. They could send telepathic messages to one another, and had developed the handy trick of teleporting (or 'jaunting' as they called it) to any location in the galaxy. Despite their evolutionary superiority, they practised a form of political correctness in terms of their self-description: "Properly speaking, we're actually Homo Superior. But we don't think it's polite to call ourselves that -- so we prefer to use the name Tomorrow People."

The Tomorrow People lived in secret laboratories in London, and helped protect the earth from invasions by hostile aliens. Invariably the aliens would turn out to be controlled by Adolf Hitler, which meant that much of the dialogue consisted of the phrase: "Adolf Hitler -- not you again!". The brain-work for these alien-fighting endeavours was carried out by a computer called Tim, who seemed to have been built with a few Canadian transistors. This gave a distinctive lilt to his otherwise impeccable Oxford accent: "Warning: Enemies are waiting oot-side", "Warning: Adolf Hitler is wandering ab-oot our secret laboratory."

A major attraction of the Tomorrow People was Elizabeth. According to perhaps the saddest and most tragic site on the web she was "beautiful, smart and... a natural leader". It is testimony to the enduring legacy of the Tomorrow People that -- even today -- Elizabeth has inspired websites such as this, and beautiful 'ASCII artworks' such as this.

2. UFO

The opening credits of UFO say it all. The year is 1980. Aliens with pink contact lenses are invading the earth. And the only thing that stands in their way is SHADO (Supreme Headquarters Alien Defence Organisation).

It was a television series that was long on acronyms, and short on acting ability. The producers of the programme, Gerry and Sylvia Anderson, took the successful formula they'd employed for Thunderbirds, Captain Scarlet, Stingray, and Supercar and turned it on its head. Rather than using puppets that looked like real people, UFO used real people who bore a strong resemblance to puppets.

A major premise behind the series was that -- by the year 1980 -- Britain would have a fully operational moon-base, and that string vests and fake-looking wigs would have become standard garb for female members of the military. Sadly, however, neither of these predictions have eventuated.

In its day, UFO was often criticized for its depictions of violence, but -- in retrospect -- it also had educational value. The first time I heard the word "mutilate" was on UFO. Later that same day I used my expanded vocabulary to threaten my little brother.

Brother [holding dictionary]: Mum! David says he's going to excise, maim, or otherwise deprive me of my bodily organs!

The series also had important educational value in terms of what our school euphemistically referred to as 'health studies'. Even Elizabeth paled in comparison with the uninhibited charms of the UFO cast.

3. Time Tunnel

"The exciting past! The breathtaking future! The Time Tunnel!". Most of my knowledge of history comes from this television series, which featured two atypically photogenic scientists travelling through time.

As the opening credits explain, the time tunnel was a huge scientific project that cost "billions of dollars". Despite its breathtaking price-tag, the machine spent most of the time either broken down or exploding. This meant that the hapless scientists were perpetually trapped in the worst kind of good news/bad news cycle:

"The bad news is that the machine has exploded again -- so you're trapped on Krakatoa island in the year 1883! But the good news is that we've managed to turn it on again just seconds before the volcano erupts! But the bad news is that we've transported you to the deck of the Titanic just before it hits an iceberg!"

The educational aspect of Time Tunnel was slightly diluted by its admirably post-modern approach to chronology. As a consequence, the order of certain historical events is confused in my mind. Did the Napoleonic Wars really come before Pearl Harbour? Weren't the pyramids built by dinosaurs?

In some ways, however, Time Tunnel was superior to conventional approaches to education. For example, how many of the so-called history books reveal how the human race will eventually die out. Clue: The earth's oxygen will be stolen by aliens.

4. Lidsville

Complaints about the lack of psychedelic children's television were seldom heard in the early 1970s. An extract from the lyrics to the Lidsville theme-song explains why:

"Lidsville is the Koo-Koo-Kookiest,
Lidsville is the Ki-Ki-Kickiest,
Lidsville is the Groo-Groo-Grooviest
Lidsville is the living end, friend."

Like other television programmes from the same production company (which also documented the adventures of Proto-hiphop-speller Pufnstuf, and angst-ridden crustaceans Sigmund and the Sea Monsters), Lidsville featured such protracted opening credits that it barely had time to cover its weekly storyline.

The plot was typical of 1970s hippy television. Boy visits circus. Boy climbs into giant hat. Boy is transported to magic island populated entirely by sentient headwear. Boy becomes a pawn in an epic battle between politically incorrect bad hats, and groovy free-thinking good hats.

The programme promoted such worthy messages as "be nice to people" and "it doesn't matter if you're different". Wayne Mapp would have a fit if it were shown on telly today.

Lidsville was -- if I am to be completely honest -- quite annoying. An appreciation of the well-meaning preachiness of the whole Lidsville/Pufnstuf/Sigmund oeuvre can be gleaned from this clip, which features guest-star ‘Mama’ Cass Elliot singing about the difficulties of being a witch.

5. It's Academic

It is often said that game show hosts are born, not made, and this was never more true than for Lockwood Smith with his gleaming movie-star teeth, and carefully primped coiffure à la Liberace.

When considered purely as a television programme, It’s Academic was unspeakably awful. It only played for half-an-hour, but -- to me at any rate -- each episode seemed to last an entire afternoon. Its dullness was absolutely astonishing.

But somehow Lockwood Smith's smirking presence transcended the normal conventions of television. There was a strange fascination in watching him at work -- as he unashamedly greased-up to the kids from posh schools, and blankly cold-shouldered the kids from trashy schools (like the one I attended). It's Academic was clearly the pinnacle of Lockwood's career, and it's been quite depressing to see his subsequent slide into politics.

I actually knew the kids from my school who went on the show. They never scored a point, but I have always treasured this exchange between Lockwood and their opponents, which -- I swear -- I am not making up:

Lockwood: What's the average of these five numbers: 1, 3,...
Posh kid: Three!
Lockwood: I don't know quite how you did that. But three is the correct answer! Well done!

Of course, a possible explanation is the market economy at work. I have often wondered how many of the posh kid's parents were also contributors to Lockwood's campaign fund.

I paused for breath. "So what do you think of my analysis?" I asked Jennifer.

"Mmmm..?" she said. "Well, perhaps your accusations of corruption on It's Academic are going a little too far..."

A thought suddenly occurred to me: "Hey, do you think Alice in Videoland might have any of these on DVD?"

It turned out that -- miraculously -- they did.

Later that evening I switched off the programme my niece was watching, and inserted a DVD of the Tomorrow People into the player. "Now pay close attention," I instructed her. "I don't want to raise your expectations, but what you are about to see is the greatest children's television programme of all time."

Alas, it was pearls before swine. As the opening scenes played, a series of extremely bemused looks passed across my niece's face. She was nonplussed by Tim the talking Canadian computer. Adolf Hitler's appearance failed to generate any excitement at all. She was even un-moved of the terrifying hordes of polystyrene aliens. At the end of the first episode she turned to me, and said: "Uncle David, can we please watch something else?".