Greg Bailey on broadcasting

More than 40 years ago I worked with the great Ned Sherrin – a much– missed hero of the cinema, theatre and

tv – on a somewhat prophetic spoofdocumentary series. This was atv’s

Rather Reassuring Programme, the weekly premise of which was to construct a wildly implausible, upbeat work of fiction, art or theatre around the most impossibly bleak subject. I mention this long-overlooked period-piece not solely for the benefit of tv historians or media archaeologists but from a growing awareness of rather reassuring

tv archaeology.

I had found Ben Robinson’s archaeological assessment of the regional English village, Pubs, Ponds & Power: The Story of the Village ( bbc4 series, 2019) an enjoyable and often rewarding early evening watch. So while his latest series,

Villages by the Sea

( bbc4, March 2020), caught my immediate interest – bolstered by recollections of family outings and fondly remembered filming trips – I wondered whether the story of Clovelly, “a romantic Victorian seaside village”, would manage to temper this apparently idyllic mix with a little critical grit.

Here, as the presenter had it, was, “A village by the sea, fishing boats, cottages and a gorgeous view and a perfect place to escape from a busy world.” But all was not quite as it seemed. Robinson continued: it “may look frozen in time, but the village we see today was the creation of one powerful pioneering woman. This is the story of how she transformed Clovelly from a down-atheel fishing village into a romantic idyll.”

Viewers accordingly saw archive photos of fishermen and their picarooner herring boats, and their hard way of life described by a descendant. But they also heard that although Clovelly’s landmark harbour wall was paid for by its former aristocratic owners, their tenant villagers lived as they always had done.

“The lords of the manor did little to help the great unwashed,” the archaeologist contended. “That is until 1884 when the estate passed into the hands of a formidable young woman, 28-year-old Christine Hamlyn, or the Queen of Clovelly as she became known.”

Official tour-guide Jana Edwards took up the theme. Before 1884 Clovelly’s original cottages were “tiny, dark hovels”, built of beach pebbles and cob, and not “nearly as lovely as they look today”. Well yes, but all this loveliness was making me feel just a bit too cosy.

A litany of the good works of the powerful, pioneering woman followed. Hamlyn was not averse to “knocking through” to remove walls, add balconies, storeys, mock Tudor beams, and pseudo Dutch gables to fishermen’s cottages. Her home improvements reflected her wide travels and eclectic taste. A keen follower of the Arts & Crafts movement, she even knocked three cottages into one to re-site the village pub over the road.

“Then she had somewhere that was big enough for the growing number of people who wanted to stay and enjoy her beautiful village,” Edwards explained. The building alterations were all carefully initialled ce and dated, “So there was never any confusion as to who did what, when.”

Today visitors may be channelled from a discreetly screened car park through the gift shop, the only public entrance to this privately owned village, before enjoying the stunning stratigraphy of its harbour wall, its crazily steep cobbled street, the eccentric architecture or Crazy Kate’s cottage. But Ben Robinson recognised its particular authenticity.

“Don’t let anybody tell you this village is fake,” he reassured.

“Making this community work, this village work for visitors and the residents alike, fulfilling Christine Hamlyn’s vision, is every bit as important as any industry that took place here in the past.”

Greg Bailey researches tv archaeology in the Department of Archaeology & Anthropology, University er i of Bristol