...and another Carry On star invited me up to her bedroom

In his book See You at the Premiere: Life At The Arse End Of Showbiz, Ross Smith charts his time working as a writer and researcher in the BBC radio light entertainment department in the 1990s. This extract starts after he had established himself on Radio 2’s film magazine programme Cinema Two, and now finds himself pitching ideas for a full-length documentary to Barry Littlechild, a veteran producer in the department….

Eventually, Barry found an idea that excited him. He waved the proposal in front of me. It was titled Carry On Carrying On. This wouldn’t be a bland, cut ‘n’ paste tribute show about the Carry On films. On the contrary, I wanted to make a serious and objective documentary examining the creative and business aspects of the 31-film series.

‘I’ll buy that,’ Barry said, triumphantly. ‘You got three months.’

Three months?! Three, pre-internet, months to source, watch and select clips from 31 Carry On films, track down and prepare interviews with anyone still alive, select extracts from archive interviews for those who were dead, and write a script. Thank God, I had Barry to help me every step of...

‘Help you?’, Barry cut in. ‘It’s your programme, mate. Get back to me when you’ve a 90- minute cut and I’ll save the day in the edit. Help you?! Shove a broom up my arse and I’ll sweep the floor while I’m at it. Now, bugger off.’

After a morning of self-doubt, I realised, actually, I wasn’t daunted at the prospect of making a documentary for national radio on my own. Far from it. Being a hands-on, control freak, I felt liberated. Grateful, even. There I was being left alone to make whatever I wanted. No constraints, no external influences, no politics, surely this is what every creative person longs for? I had 51 interviews broadcast to date, knew the Carry On films inside out, was confident in my researching and interviewing skills and could certainly deliver a script. Barry showed confidence in my ability to deliver. So, yeah, I can do this.

Carry On Carrying On got off to the worst possible start. I began by setting out to watch the Carry On films in chronological order so, obviously, started with the first in the series, Carry On Sergeant, starring Bob Monkhouse and Kenneth Connor.

When I ejected the tape, the video machine switched automatically to the television. The BBC news was on and – you couldn’t make this up – I heard the headline, ‘The comedy world is in mourning today after the death of veteran actor, Kenneth Connor.’ BBC news even chose to screen a clip from Sergeant. Only minutes before, I’d been writing out questions for Kenneth Connor. Next morning, my answer machine bleeped me awake. It was a message from Bob Monkhouse saying he wasn’t available for interview due to an extended break in the Caribbean. I hadn’t been working on the documentary 24 hours and already I was on the back foot.

Luckily, Barbara Windsor agreed to be interviewed at length in Barry’s studio. Unfortunately, ten minutes before she arrived, I discovered the studio was double-booked and Barbara and I didn’t have priority. When she arrived, Barbara was as sweet and understanding as you’ve always imagined. The double-booking wasn’t a problem for her, she could come in another day or, she suggested, we could find somewhere else quiet in the BBC and have a natter right now? That’s when Barry suggested the photocopier room. He wasn’t joking. So we wheeled a chair into it and Barbara sat down. There wasn’t enough space to squeeze in a second chair, so there I was, in a photocopier room, on my knees, inches from Barbara Windsor’s lap for an hour.

‘God,’ I said to her, ‘I love showbusiness.’

Barbara talked candidly about shagging Sid ‘to get it out of his system but, unfortunately, it didn’t’ and how pissed off most of the regular cast were at their £5 000 buyout per film ‘but five grand for four weeks work paid my mortgage for the year, so I wasn’t complaining.’

Before leaving, Barry asked Barbara if we could have a photo with her for the Radio Times. That was the standard bullshit Barry gave when he wanted to get snapped with someone famous. Barbara was happy to have her photo taken, but apologised for ‘not looking my best, love, just had a hysterectomy.’

  Another Carry On stalwart provided me with an even greater thrill than Barbara Windsor.  I was in Liz Fraser’s kitchen – that’s the kind of showbiz memoir you’re reading, folks – having just concluded the interview when she asked how much she’d be paid.

‘It’s only fifty pounds, I’m afraid, Liz.’

‘Fifty pounds!’ she retorted. ‘That’s not much, is it?’

I was silent. I couldn’t argue with her.

‘Why don’t you make it up to me,’ proposed Liz, ‘by taking me out for dinner.’

She was serious.

‘Let’s go for dinner one evening.’

Liz winked, ruffled my hair, then sashayed out of the kitchen leaving me to pack away my equipment (matron). Calling to Liz that I was ready to go, there was no response. I walked to the hall.

‘Er, I’ll be on my way, now, Liz.’

From a room upstairs, a voice beckoned.

‘Have a look at this, Ross.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Come up and have a look at this.’

‘A look at what?’

‘This! I think you’ll like it.’

What on earth could impress me at the top of those stairs? Sid’s orange cardigan from Carry On At Your Convenience?

‘What is it?’ I cried up.

‘Oh, you’ll have to come up and see for yourself, love.’

Wait a minute, in addition to appearing in Carry On Cabby didn’t Liz also star in Confessions of a Driving Instructor? I looked around anxiously, checking if her all-in wrestler husband had come home unexpectedly.

‘Come on, Ross, what’s taking you so long?’

‘I need to get me tea.’

‘Your what?’

‘Me tea, BBC canteen doesn’t do hot food after seven.’

There was a pause, then the tone from upstairs changed.

‘Oh…oh, alright then,’ came the flat reply.

Hesitating to leave, I had a change of heart. ‘Fuck it,’ I thought, ‘I’m going up!’

‘Mind the milk bottles on the way out,’ cautioned Liz.

And with that, the moment was gone.

The other interviewees for Carry On Carrying On rapidly lined themselves up: Angela Douglas, Bernard Cribbins, Jack Douglas, Peter Butterworth’s widow Janet Brown and, for one particularly glorious afternoon, Peter Rogers (yes, he of ‘A Peter Rogers Production’ fame) in his Pinewood office.

Barry told me the key to a good documentary was access and candour. If you can get the relevant people to open up, it’s impossible to make a bad documentary. As I conducted interview after interview and the guests spoke with such openness, I could see Barry was right. This was turning into a good documentary and it couldn’t have been improved after Fenella Fielding with her seductive, hot chocolate tones agreed to narrate.

Carry On Carrying On was broadcast on August Bank Holiday Monday. Critics loved it and although Barry was pleased with the reception he, characteristically, ensured it didn’t go to my head.

‘What d’you want, a bleeding medal?’

‘A medal?’ I retorted. ‘Working with you, I deserve a knighthood.’

‘You what?! Listen, mate, if it wasn’t for me you’d been down The Strand selling The Big-bloody-Issue. I made you what you are today.’

‘Yeah, a nervous wreck.’

After exhausting our mutual insults, Barry offered the highest praise he could.

‘So, what d’you want to make next?’

Next was a documentary on James Bond theme songs called For Your Ears Only….

• See You at the Premiere: Life at the Arse End of Showbiz by Alex is published by Gordon Bennett Publishing and available from Amazon, priced £14.99 in paperback or £5.99 on e-book.

Published: 23 Mar 2022