THE BEST OF BRITISH COMEDY

PORRIDGE

THE BEST SCENES, JOKES AND ONE-LINERS

Richard Webber

EPISODE LIST

Introduction

The Story in a Nutshell

Pilot

‘Prisoner and Escort’ (transmitted 1/4/73)

Series One

1. ‘New Faces, Old Hands’ (5/9/74)

2. ‘The Hustler’ (12/9/74)

3. ‘A Night In’ (19/9/74)

4. ‘A Day Out’ (26/9/74)

5. ‘Ways and Means’ (3/10/74)

6. ‘Men Without Women’ (10/10/74)

Series Two

1. ‘Just Desserts’ (24/10/75)

2. ‘Heartbreak Hotel’ (31/10/75)

3. ‘Disturbing the Peace’ (7/11/75)

4. ‘No Peace for the Wicked’ (14/11/75)

5. ‘Happy Release’ (21/11/75)

6. ‘The Harder They Fall’ (28/11/75)

Christmas Special

‘No Way Out’ (24/12/75)

Christmas Special

‘The Desperate Hours’ (24/12/76)

Series Three

1. ‘A Storm in a Teacup’ (18/2/77)

2. ‘Poetic Justice’ (25/2/77)

3. ‘Rough Justice’ (4/3/77)

4. ‘Pardon Me’ (11/3/77)

5. ‘A Test of Character’ (18/3/77)

6. ‘Final Stretch’ (25/3/77)

Test Your Knowledge

Acknowledgements

In the same series

Copyright

About the Publisher

B

INTRODUCTION

You can count the number of truly classic British sitcoms on one hand – well, perhaps two. But however many hands you use, Porridge will be one of the first programmes to register for inclusion. Undoubtedly one of the real gems, the prison-based show starring the late Ronnie Barker as the recalcitrant yet loveable rascal, Fletcher, transcends the generations; like any other classic, it remains as accessible and funny today as it did when first aired in the 1970s.

Including the pilot, transmitted a year before the first series hit the screen, twenty-one instalments were made, attracting audiences of up to 20 million. Written by those prolific scribes Dick Clement and Ian La Frenais, and brought to life by an estimable bunch of actors, headed by the great Ronnie B as Fletch, a recidivist who spent most of his adult life behind bars, the sitcom quickly attracted plaudits and became a shining example of what good situation comedy is all about.

So, if you want to sample comedy writing at its best, find out how the series was conceived, discover some interesting facts concerning the programme and read about the writers’ and performers’ experiences, then put your feet up and keep turning the pages. Packed into this little volume are script extracts boasting some of the best moments from a superb comedy, an overview of the show’s history and much, much more. Happy reading!

RICHARD WEBBER

B

THE STORY IN A NUTSHELL

‘Norman Stanley Fletcher, you have pleaded guilty to the charges brought by this court and it is now my duty to pass sentence. You’re an habitual criminal who accepts arrest as an occupational hazard and, presumably, accepts imprisonment in the same casual manner. We, therefore, feel constrained to commit you to the maximum term allowed for these offences: you will go to prison for five years.’

As the opening credits rolled at the start of twenty episodes of Porridge, these sobering words told us much about Fletch, everyone’s favourite lag. From borstal to Brixton, he’d become something of a fixture in Her Majesty’s establishments, having clocked up the years behind bars for an array of petty crimes.

His latest port of call was Slade Prison, a remote jail in northwest England, and we witnessed his arrival in the opening episode, ‘New Faces, Old Hands’, in September 1974. But it wasn’t our first sighting of the forty-something lag serving time for robbery. No, we first met the cunning Cockney a year earlier, in April 1973, en route from Brixton to Slade in a sitcom pilot, entitled ‘Prisoner and Escort’.

The half-hour comedy was the second of seven pilots transmitted in a series titled, Seven of One; the BBC wanted a new comedy vehicle for Barker, just part of a package they’d used to secure the services of him and Ronnie Corbett from rivals London Weekend Television.

Clement and La Frenais, who’d already scored a small-screen hit with The Likely Lads, supplied two scripts: ‘I’ll Fly You For A Quid’, concerning a family of gamblers, and ‘Prisoner and Escort’, which also introduced us to Mr Mackay and Mr Barrowclough, the prison officers tasked with escorting Fletch to his new home. Some people doubted a prison-based sitcom would have the legs to survive in the competitive TV world, but Barker wasn’t one: after all, while planning an earlier set of pilots, titled Six Dates with Barker, he’d mulled over the idea of a prison series himself, so was delighted when the writers submitted their idea.

Initially, Clement and La Frenais envisaged setting their script in an open prison, while Barker felt a Bilko-style approach, oozing frivolity, was just the ticket. After much cogitating, they opted for a closed prison, affording the writers the chance not only to extract humour from the situation but to explore the darker side of doing porridge, too. There is no better example of this than the poignant episode, ‘A Night In’, the third instalment based entirely inside the cell occupied by Fletcher and Godber, the naïve first-time offender played beautifully by Richard Beckinsale. With Godber struggling to adjust to prison life, Fletch reveals altruistic tendencies to help his cellmate through his difficult time; in doing so, he develops into a father-figure for the youngster.

From the Seven of One series, Ronnie Barker enjoyed two major successes: as well as ‘Prisoner and Escort’, the Roy Clarke-scripted Open All Hours also originated from the pilot season. But while Clarke’s offering relied more heavily on gags and comedy from the situation, Clement and La Frenais mined much of their humour from the characterisations, providing a depth which appealed to many.

Three of the four main players had already been recruited when the pilot’s success saw a full-blown series green-lighted: as well as Barker, Brian Wilde and Fulton Mackay, who played prison wardens Mr Barrowclough and Mr Mackay respectively, also made their debuts in ‘Prisoner and Escort’.

Jimmy Gilbert, executive producer on Seven of One, had known Mackay since studying together at drama school and working as actors at Glasgow’s Citizens’ Theatre in the 1950s. Hiring Wilde, meanwhile, to play the easily led and nervous Henry Barrowclough was Ronnie Barker’s idea. In the pilot, it’s Wilde – and not Mackay – who has the most air time with Barker, particularly when they hole themselves up for the night in a deserted cottage after the minibus transporting Fletcher to Slade Prison breaks down on the bleak moors. But as the series progressed, Fulton Mackay’s character came to the fore; on reflection, Dick Clement commented they’d under-used Mackay in the beginning but quickly involved him more. Identifying the tough-talking warder as a richer character meant Barrowclough’s prominence diminished, much to the actor’s disappointment.

A host of other wardens and prisoners were required to fill the fictitious Slade Prison, but the final piece of major casting involved finding someone to play Fletcher’s cellmate – the

‘Little victories, little victories.’

callow Lennie Godber. Ronnie Barker suggested Paul Henry, who’d make his name playing woolly-hatted Benny in Crossroads; having just worked with him, Barker deemed him ideal for the role.

Producer Sydney Lotterby had other ideas, however: he was impressed with Richard Beckinsale, who was playing Geoffrey in Granada’s sitcom, The Lovers, and thought his sensitivity as an actor was apposite for Godber. When Barker saw the Nottingham-born actor in action, he shared Lotterby’s enthusiasm. As soon as Barker and Beckinsale began working together, it was clear a dream partnership was forming.

For the sitcom’s long-term success, it was crucial the principal actors worked well together; with most of the action taking place inside the confines of a prison cell, such a restricted environment would only magnify any deficiencies and incompatibilities between the principals. With Porridge this never happened, and the interplay between Barker and Beckinsale was one of the sitcom’s many strengths.

With everything in place, Porridge made its small-screen debut with ‘New Faces, Old Hands’ transmitting on Thursday 5th September 1974, with just over 16 million tuning in. For a time, however, Clement and La Frenais experienced serious doubts about how they could write a full-blown comedy concerning prison. They visited various prisons, including Brixton, and felt profoundly depressed because they realised there was nothing slightly humorous about the reality of life inside.

Did you know?

While scenes set in cells or offices were shot in a BBC studio, the larger association area, where the prisoners congregated, was filmed at Ealing Studios, using a multilevel structure built inside an old tank.

It was a chance meeting with Jonathan Marshall, who’d just penned a book titled How to Survive in the Nick, which provided them with the spark they needed. While having a drink in a Richmond pub, Marshall uttered the phrase ‘little victories’ which struck a chord with the writers, providing them with a valuable tool for Fletcher to exploit.

Over the next three years, a further 19 episodes, including two Christmas Specials, would be screened before Slade Prison finally closed its doors on Friday 25th March 1977, with ‘Final Stretch’ spotlighting Godber’s release.

While the writers would have willingly written a fourth series, and the public would certainly have gobbled up more, it was Barker’s desire to move on that brought the show to an end. However, it wasn’t the last time we’d set eyes on the wily lag. A year later – Friday 24th February 1978, to be precise – we saw Fletch return to the outside world, his release shown in the first of six episodes in a sequel, titled Going Straight.

Did you know?

When the prison authorities refused permission for exterior shots to be filmed outside a real prison, numerous psychiatric hospitals around the London area were chosen instead.

After the final instalments of Porridge had been screened, writers Dick Clement and Ian La Frenais were invited to BBC Television Centre for lunch. During the meeting, the subject of Fletcher arose and Clement and La Frenais expressed an interest in following his progress in the big wide world upon his release from prison. Everyone loved the idea and before long the nation’s favourite con – or, rather, ex-con – was entertaining sizeable audiences again.

Memories …

‘Dick and I thought “I’ll Fly You For A Quid”, the other pilot we wrote for Seven of One, would be the easiest to turn into a series but then Ronnie said it might be more challenging to make “Prisoner and Escort”. The trouble was, we couldn’t think how we’d sustain it – after all, how could you make life inside seem funny?

‘When we wrote the pilot, concerning Fletcher being taken to prison, we had no intention of turning it into a series. So when asked to do so, it suddenly became daunting; we decided to visit various prisons and got thoroughly depressed because, let’s face it, they are very depressing places. We talked to the governor of Brixton over tea at the RAC Club, visited Brixton and the Scrubs and ended up even more apprehensive. Then we spoke to Jonathan Marshall, an ex-con, about the routines of prison life – the meeting was valuable.

‘We met for a drink in Richmond and talked about life inside. Suddenly, he came up with the expression, “It’s all about little victories.” He was referring to getting through one’s sentence on a day-to-day basis, taking it a day at a time and earning “little victories” by scoring against the system. With that one little phrase we found Fletcher’s character – it gave us a route in. That became the key to Fletcher.’

IAN LA FRENAIS

Although an amusing series in its own right, Going Straight lacked the punch and richness of its predecessor. The confines of prison had created an edge which, frankly, was always going to be difficult to equal; furthermore, while Fletch was king of the castle inside, back on civvy street he was a loser, a man drifting along in life, struggling to come to terms with a world that had left him behind.

But the allure of Porridge remains, even now, three decades after the final episode was screened, explaining why it can rightly be classed as a classic of the genre.

B

‘PRISONER AND ESCORT’

Fletch discusses his criminal background.

FLETCHER: When I left school I went round the local labour and appraised the professional opportunities open to me. Unfortunately my lack of scholastic achievement prevented me from doing the things I really fancied, such as stockbrokerin’ or teaching tennis at a girls’ school. And I didn’t reckon working in a cardboard box factory. So I robbed the sub-post office off the North Circular.

BARROWCLOUGH: And you never looked back since, so to speak.

FLETCHER: No – nor have I ever been short of 3d. stamps.

BARROWCLOUGH: What have you gone down for this time?

FLETCHER: Aw, don’t talk about it. Be a farce if it wasn’t such a tragedy, Own fault, should have stuck to what I know best – housebreaking. But I lifts this lorry. Impulse steal. You know what I mean, impulse steal. I think it’s a doddle, don’t I?

BARROWCLOUGH: I gather it wasn’t.

FLETCHER: Yeah, you know why, though – flaming brakes failed. Criminal letting lorries on the road in that condition. And he was overloaded. So there I was, with five ton on me back roarin’ down bloody Archway.

BARROWCLOUGH: Wonder you weren’t killed.

FLETCHER: I nearly was. Went through three back gardens, went clean through a brick wall and finished up in somebody’s tool shed.

BARROWCLOUGH: Did they get you for wilful destruction of property? I mean, knocking that wall down.

FLETCHER: Yeah. And I asked for six other fences to be taken into consideration.

Memories …

‘I liked the pilot, it contained some wonderful material. It’s only a three-hander but the contrast between Fletcher, Mackay and Barrowclough is very strong. There are two moments that are particularly funny: the first where Fletch pees into the gas tank – and I can still remember the laughter from the studio audience going on for a long time – and the second when Fletch escaped on the moors, runs around all night before breaking back into the hut he’d left in the first place.

‘Ronnie’s reaction, when he discovered where he was, was classic. I remember thinking what a genius he was then, because he was able to make that laugh go on and on. In hindsight, Fletcher wouldn’t normally be the kind of person who’d try escaping because it would cause too many repercussions when he was caught. But you could argue it was an impulse decision: he suddenly saw an opportunity and took advantage of it. The main thing is, we thought it was funny and his reaction to it was better than anything anyone could have imagined on the page. Overall, the pilot was a great success.’

DICK CLEMENT

Barrowclough discusses his wife.

BARROWCLOUGH: Well, she sees a future of frustrated ambitions stretching before her. She doesn’t like what I do or where we live. So over the years she’s grown bitter and unsettled, full of restless urges, which have manifested themselves in various ways like bad temper, spots and sleeping with the postman. And there were liaisons with other men. We got to rowing all the time. Things went from bad to worse. Eventually we went to see the marriage guidance counsellor.

Did you know?

The gatehouse seen in the opening credits once marked the entrance to St Albans’ Prison before, later, being acquired by the local council and becoming a depot for the highways department. Now, the building acts as headquarters for a mineral-water company’s sales and marketing department.

FLETCHER: That help, did it?

BARROWCLOUGH: It helped her! She ran off with him.

FLETCHER: Oh well, you’re well out of it, aren’t you, mate. You’re well out of a slag like that.

BARROWCLOUGH: She’s come back.

FLETCHER: Oh I see … well, people change.

BARROWCLOUGH: I blame myself, I’m a failure. I’m only hanging on to this job by the skin of me teeth. I got so depressed I thought I’d take advantage of the prison psychiatric department. See them about my inferiority complex. Well, it’s not a complex really – I am inferior.

Memories …

‘Barrowclough may have become a slightly one-note character, but he was a wonderful foil. When we spoke to people about prison life, there always seemed to be the hard bastard and the soft touch; there are comparisons in the army or the air force. Everybody knows the ones you can’t mess with and those in whom you can see a weakness that can be exploited. Mackay and Barrowclough represented both sides.

‘We deliberately set out to have a modernist and traditionalist; having Mackay as the old hard-liner and Barrowclough the new, relatively liberal screw created conflict and that’s the life of our comedy.’

DICK CLEMENT

‘I had lots to do in the pilot, whereas in other episodes I wasn’t given so much. In the actual series, Barrowclough wasn’t as important, which was sad. But we had a good company. You can’t spend a lot of time with people without either falling out bitterly or getting on; fortunately we all got on well together.’

BRIAN WILDE

B

‘NEW FACES, OLD HANDS’

Fletch and Godber discuss prison life.

GODBER: First time for me. Don’t know how I’ll get through.

FLETCHER: Cheer up. Could be worse. State this country’s in, could be free. Out there with no work and a crumbling economy. Think how ’orrible that would be. Nothing to do but go to bed early and increase the population.

FLETCHER: My beloved Isobel. The little woman. Well, she ain’t so little. I said to her the other day, ‘Isobel, I’ll never get over you, I’ll have to get up and go round.’

Memories …

‘In those days, before computers, we wrote in longhand on whatever was handy and then got it typed, correcting the text afterwards, if necessary. My handwriting is more legible than Ian’s so it was always me who wrote everything down; when we moved onto computers it was still me, which was fine because I preferred it that way.

‘One episode, “A Night In”, was written one evening at the Midland Hotel, Manchester. We were in rehearsals with our play, Billy. Other times, we wrote around my kitchen table, surrounded by dogs and children, and with lots of interruptions. Sometimes I went to Ian’s, other times he came to me. But wherever we were, it was always very chaotic.’

DICK CLEMENT

Memories …

‘Writing for Ronnie was the greatest fun we ever had, in terms of just the feedback. He possessed a writer’s brain as well as an actor’s and suggested the odd line or little ad-lib from time to time. He’d often do something and ask, “Is that alright?” After we’d stopped laughing, we’d reply, “Yes, Ronnie, fine.” I don’t think there was ever a moment when Ian and I looked at each other and said, “No, Ronnie, you can’t do that.” His instincts were spot on.

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