Tiswas was a slice of anarchy on a Saturday morning – and a nation of schoolchildren loved it
Children incarcerated in crammed cages like battery hens, their smirking tormentors verbally abusing the young prisoners before hurling buckets of water over them.
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This is not the opening line of a harrowing court case or a story about the suffering endured by infant workers in some far-flung corner of our former empire.
This was Tiswas, an anarchic slice of West Midlands entertainment that gained custard pie flinging cult TV status in the 1970s.
This was Tiswas, a rather lame acronym for Today Is Saturday Watch And Smile, although the Oxford English Dictionary’s description of the word more befits the madcap, at times shambling, format: “A state of nervous excitement or confusion”.
It was a terror in a tepid sea of syrupy family entertainment.
Blurring the boundaries between child and adult entertainment, Tiswas didn’t so much break the mould for Saturday morning viewing.
It stamped repeatedly on it, then threw the jagged shards at its pre-pubescent audiences.
Before Tiswas arrived, Blue Peter and Magpie presenters would coo superlatives at children for their ingenuity with empty Fairy Liquid bottles and sticky-backed plastic.
The Tiswas team growled at them. Far from being pampered, the kids appeared to be the props. And they loved the raw energy of it.
The chaotic programme – a cocktail of panto, pop and pratfalls – became wildly popular, attracting some of the day’s biggest chart stars.
Forty-two years ago this month – April 4, 1982, to be precise – Tiswas’ raucous roller-coast came to an end with the screening of the last show.
But during its eight year, eight season tenure many of today’s readers attended the programme’s base at Studio 3, ATV Centre, Birmingham, and were liberally gunged, soaked and foam flanned. They were also gripped by the fear of being hit by phlegm expectorated by a puppet mutt.
In all, 120 pies were used as missiles during each episode and 23 litres of shaving foam.
Some victims may still carry the scars.
For the milestone 100th show, broadcast from Hednesford Hills Raceway, the boat was pushed out. The fire service attended and simply hosed down the hundreds present as if quelling a street disturbance.
What fun.
Today, TV regulators Ofcom would receive a steady stream of complaints about the degradation of innocents, the adult themes. The local fire service would be lambasted for indulging in the Hednesford Raceway frivolity: “Is this what we pay our taxes for?”
Four decades ago, we lapped it up. Tiswas had powerful enemies – ATV boss Lew Grade reportedly hated the show, but vast viewing figures guaranteed its security.
