Another cold snap in March 2014 with flurries of snow
early this morning, and a chance to conclude this series of rambling radio
memories. Or should I say “sign off?” There will be further chapters but they will
be found on the “55555” blog and only occasionally linked here. Besides, that highly irregular and illegal
radio station in north Worcester was about to come to an abrupt end.
It was Easter Eve 1972.
April Fools’ Day also, and a special Easter weekend programme had been
prepared for the following day, recorded on a new seven inch reel of tape that
was waiting in its box on the table ready to be threaded into the
recorder. But later that afternoon when
I went up to listen to and preview the tape I was concerned to find it already
on the spools ready to play. Who could
have done that? I shrugged it off. Perhaps my brother. Or one of my parents out of curiosity. I powered up the machine, put on a set of headphones,
and rotated the “play” switch. What I
heard next chilled me to the bone.
Instead of the introductory music that I had been using
for months there was a man’s voice, deep and with a definite air of authority,
which repeated this message. Three times.
“Close this station
down. This station is operating illegally. We have found you out. Close this station down!”
The back-story to all of this was very unfortunate. The VHF
signal emitted by the transmitter was not only more powerful than I had
measured (and I had not measured its east-west range,) it was also, unbeknown
to me, producing a harmonic signal which was radiating in the 68-88 MHz band –
right in the middle of frequencies used by the West Mercia Constabulary. Yep! I
was busted!
Yet it was a very gentle “bust.” This was due to the fact that when the police
(who had used the General Post Office detector vans) located the source of the
signal(s) and realized that they were emanating from the home of a much
respected and highly popular clergyman, it was decided to send the matter upstairs
to a certain Chief Inspector. And Chief Inspector
Hunt was not only a friend of the family but a regular worshipper at the parish
church. So a quiet conversation took
place; the officer visited the house, a message was left, and that was that. No fine.
Not even a caution. No confiscation of equipment. All very fair and sporting.
I’m not sure if my parents were annoyed or not, for
little was said. I’m sure that my father
had an amusing time of it all for there was a twinkle in his eye that weekend. And my mother’s mood never changed. But it was the end of clandestine
broadcasting from St Stephen’s Vicarage.
Is there an Epilogue to this tale? If there is then it’s certainly not a cautionary
one for it was fun while it lasted and I have no regrets. The transmitter was dismantled. The recording equipment remained wired up as
from time to time I would record a show and send it to be broadcast on the
equally illegal Super Radio station in the next town of Malvern. I would even record a fifteen minute demonstration
tape and send it to Radio Atlantis, an offshore station operating from a ship off
the Dutch coast from 1973-74, and I later learned that they had played five minutes
of it on air. What a claim to fame!
But time was moving on, and I was moving on. It was the end of the care-free and often cavalier
free radio days (Radio North Sea closed in 1974,) academic study beckoned with
a vengeance, and getting into university was the sole interest and purpose. Was it the end of radio for me? No.
But that tale has not yet been written.
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