OTD in early British television: 24 September 1928
John Wyver writes: Monday 24 September 1928 was the second day of a week of demonstration transmissions by John Logie Baird’s company for the National Radio Exhibition at Olympia. Radiolympia attendees could step out on a dance floor to tunes from Jack Payne and his BBC Orchestra, but presumably to avoid an intolerable cacophony broadcast demonstrations were not permitted in the hall. As a consequence, manufacturers hired nearby premises to show off the latest systems.
So it was that the first performances for British television of songs and comedy were given at 1 Hammersmith Road, sent by landline and watched on the opposite side of Olympia in a shop in Maclise Road.
Writing for an early issue of Television (above), Baird-enthusiast R.F. Tiltman described the pop-up viewing room with three receiving Televisors, each in a cubicle of blue curtains:
Six people at a time were admitted to each cubicle, and after inspection of the receiving apparatus the light was dimmed and a short demonstration of combined sight and sound was given.
The blurry head and shoulders images were shown in ‘portrait’ format on a screen 10 cms wide by and 20 cms tall, and proved immensely popular. Initially lasting fifteen minutes, the presentations were shortened to just five minutes to accommodate many more viewers.
Two thousand people were estimated to have seen the week’s performances, and hundreds more were turned away. Yet in an internal memo a BBC attendee sniffed that,
The faces of those leaving the show showed neither excitement nor interest. Rather like a Fair crowd who had sported 6d to see if the fat lady was really as fat as she was made out to be.
Baird’s public demonstrations since his debut at Selfridges in 1925 had continued to be performances of television, occasions primarily showcasing the workings and wonders of the technology. Radiolympia witnessed the first performances by or on television, foreshadowing in the most basic forms future fundamentals of the medium.
At the centre of the closed circuit transmissions was 28-year-old technician A.F. (‘Peter’) Birch, who provided amusing chat and occasional songs between appearances by more illustrious guests. Previously a naval wireless operator and a BBC engineer, Birch had only recently joined the Baird company.
‘It seems very evident,’ an impressed Tiltman wrote, ‘that as the broadcast television service in this country develops we shall see and hear a lot more of this Mr. Birch.’
‘I ran the demonstration studio for about six months,’ this pioneer presenter recalled some 60 years later, ‘did all my own artistry.’ Thinking the system was ‘too crude’, however, he could see no future in mechanical television, and he left after two years to become a film industry sound recordist.
The first guest to be televised on Saturday was actor Peggy O’Neil, who since early June had been headlining Edgar Wallace’s West End thriller The Flying Squad. For half-an-hour Ms O’Neill chatted amiably and, responding to requests telephoned across to the studio, sang several popular songs. Later in the week guests included soprano Lilian Davis, monologist Marriott Edgar, and on Monday comic Harry Tate.
Between such high spots Baird staff filled in, and on at least one occasion financial journalist Sydney Moseley, newly established as the confidante of the inventor, was prevailed upon to apply his bass voice to well-known tunes. ‘He did not know the words,’ Tiltman recorded of these amateur hi-jinks, ‘but that was a mere detail and nobody minded.’ –
With all of this activity the Baird company’s week established the role of a host and the idea of a schedule, interviews with guests, comic turns for the screen, and songs accompanied by a pianist. These fundamentals were taken over from BBC radio, a mature medium after six years on air, and the offering was dedicated solely to attracting and diverting viewers.
‘The entertainment value of television to-day!’ was the triumphant headline (above) topping Tiltman’s account, in which he enthused that, ‘There is not the slightest doubt that television now, in its early stage that is so pregnant with possibilities, has a real, enjoyable, entertaining, awe-inspiring interest.’
[OTD post no. 278; part of a long-running series leading up to the publication on 8 January 2026 of my book Magic Rays of Light: The Early Years of Television in Britain, which can now be pre-ordered from Bloomsbury here.]
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