Pirate radio was a big part of youth culture in the UK in the 1960s.
However, as I found out when wandering round a small travelling exhibition about it last year, housewives also formed part of the target audience for pirate radio.
That surprised me because I had thought it was all for us rebel kids of the era. People of a certain age in the UK will probably remember the pirate radio ships with great fondness.
They were moored out in the North Sea, broadcasting the ‘devil’s music’, otherwise known as pop.
Old army forts were also used to broadcast from out in the middle of the rough English seas. It was all very dramatic and anti-establishment. Or so it seemed at the time.
Illegal pirate radio stations had to use offshore ships or sea-forts to get around British broadcasting laws.
Unregulated radio transmission for entertainment or political purposes was, and still is, illegal.
Somehow, going out to sea got around those laws until they made another law called the Marine Broadcasting Offences Act to sort it out. There is a brilliant film called The Boat That Rocked. The film aimed to sum up the mood of 60s pirate radio – and it is a fabulous film.
However, according to people I have spoken to who were actually on board some of those ships at the time, the film is not an entirely accurate portrayal of how things really were.
It’s still a brilliantly entertaining and nostalgic film and as Bill Nighy is in it, I don’t care if it is accurate or not – he is a genius actor.
But enough of that – let me introduce you to Ted Allbeury, pirate radio’s saviour of 60s housewives.
If you haven’t already done so, read the press cutting pictured here and then try not to get mad at him. His kind words must have been a great comfort to 60s housewives.
Thank goodness he was around to tell them they were ‘not necessarily neurotic’. Say what? Seriously? Brave man.
No Ted, they were all sitting at home waiting for Germaine Greer to happen.
I saw the cutting pinned to a board a couple of summers ago when the travelling pirate radio exhibition came to town.
Some of the pirate radio ships were moored off the coast of the seaside town where I now live and the exhibition served to remind us all of our misspent youth.
Listening to pirate radio under the covers at night on transistor radios was a huge thrill because our parents hated the music.
(Younger people may not know what transistors were, let’s just say they were the iPods of the day but with someone else choosing the music and deciding when you could hear it.)
When I first saw the cutting and read Mr. Allbeury’s patronising words, I assumed he had been another one of the many ‘off the wall’ DJs who filled the airwaves with their misguided 60s sexism.
I took the picture half thinking I would use it in a blog post and then forgot about it.
When found it again recently, I Googled Ted Allbeury to see if he had been very widely known in the 60s.
I was shocked at what came up. If what good old Wikipedia says is true, Mr. Allbeury was the furthest thing from your average ‘wild and crazy’ 60s DJ that you could get.
According to Wiki – his full name was Theodore Edward le Bouthillier Allbeury and he was an author of British espionage fiction.
His list of published novels is long. He had also been an intelligence officer for the British Secret Service during the second world war.
He had a remarkably exciting life doing macho stuff, like parachuting into Nazi Germany – as you do.
During the Cold War he, according to Wiki, was captured while running agents between East and West Germany. He was then tortured for his efforts. This man was no flake.
What I read kind of confirmed what I had suspected for years – that the whole pirate radio thing may have been a massive, elaborate set-up.
In recent years, I came to suspect that the whole pirate radio thing was an exercise in social engineering using ‘pop music’ to brainwash the teenage masses into the kind of thinking the ruling classes wanted them to have at the time.
What better way to attract a whole generation towards the sexist message you want to spread than to encourage them to think the pirate radio ships were run by rebels wanting to get one over on the establishment?
The lovely Ted Allbeury, far from being a wild and crazy pirate radio rebel was a former British war-time spy.
He was more James Bond than Jimi Hendrix and was extremely ‘establishment’.
He was also the Managing Director of Radio 390, a pirate radio station based at Red Sands Fort off the coast of Whitstable in Kent.
He later moved on to a ship-based pirate station called Radio 355. He was clearly, in my opinion, on another mission.
But this one was to help the establishment channel the masses with pop lyrics – pretty much the way they still do today.
My memories of pirate radio, like many people of my era, evoke thoughts of the innocence and excitement of the time.
It was all about Swinging London, Carnaby Street, Mods and Rockers, mini-skirts, the Beatles and Andy Warhol.
But as I began to read further into the history of pirate radio, I realised we’d all been had.
They were not run by a bunch of random hipsters who wanted to bring music to the kids in an outrageous way that flouted the law.
The masterminds behind it all included big businessmen in the US who, it appears, were involved in politics.
Reading deeply into the background of pirate radio reveals truths I would rather not face.
Well that’s another dream shattered.
I always thought the pirate radio stations were run by, well… nice pirates wearing flared jeans, cheesecloth shirts while smoking the odd joint.
To me, they were rebels who commandeered old ships and forts to play us the pop music that formed the soundtrack of our young lives.
But it so was not like that at all.
Since reading up on Ted Allbeury, I feel a bit like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz when she found the man behind the curtain, controlling the image of the wizard.
I wish I hadn’t started looking.
And all because of that stupid press cutting telling 60s housewives that they were not necessarily neurotic because they were at home all day feeling lonely.
I mean seriously, thank God for Germaine.
What are your memories of pirate radio or the pop culture of your day?