A fitting tribute to the unsung heroes of postwar Britain
In Britain’s Nuclear Bomb: The Inside Story (BBC Four), former RAF pilot Reg Milne recalled: “On one flight to Orford Ness, a bomb came loose over Dorking. It fell off its hook but luckily the bomb doors were strong enough to hold it.” Milne managed to drop his dummy payload into the Thames Estuary instead. The splash was big enough to nearly drown several fisherman. Dorking was saved from destruction.
This rollicking documentary was about Operation Grapple X: the British military’s first detonation of a megaton hydrogen bomb in 1957, creating our nuclear deterrent and earning us superpower status. It was a tale of sky-high stakes, global politics and military might. As with all the best stories, though, the devil was in the detail.
There was that near-demolition of Dorking. And the time a priceless plutonium core was left in a brokendown Vauxhall outside a south London pub. Crucial roles were played by loose wires, old paint tubes, twin bombs called “Tom and Dick”, and Heath Robinson contraptions made from tea chests. It was ingenious, plucky and quintessentially British.
The Fifties saw a desperate scramble to develop weapons to match the United States and Soviet Union. As Foreign Secretary Ernest Bevin told prime minister Clement Attlee: “We’ve got to have this thing over here, whatever it costs. And we’ve got to have the bloody Union Jack flying on top of it.”
Elderly scientists, many speaking publicly for the first time, explained their part in the process of splitting the atom, then harnessing its power. In top-secret facilities, from Suffolk to North Wales, from Cumbria to Christmas Island, our finest physicists raced against time. They made it with a mere three months to spare. “It was the brightest light I ever saw,” said co-pilot Alan Pringle. Aldermaston’s official photographer Ted Baker added: “The mushroom cloud was like a ballerina’s skirt.”
Not only was this a fascinating yarn of military and scientific endeavour but it acted as a tribute to a generation of postwar heroes. Veterans who hadn’t seen each other for 56 years got to shake hands again and finally compare notes (everything had been on a need-to-know basis first time round). Their pleasure at revisiting their youth was infectious, eyes shining with patriotic pride about what they’d achieved against the odds.
This film is not for everyone and some will be troubled by its failure to touch on the morality or catastrophic consequences of nuclear weapons. Yet, as a piece of history, this was terrifically told – and a fitting salute to the men and women who helped earn Britain’s place at top table.
Why settle for boring old minty toothpaste when it could be chicken-flavoured? This idle thought occurred to me while watching Trust Me, I’m a Vet (BBC Two). Admittedly, the poultrytasting paste here was meant for dogs but imagine the possibilities. Full English breakfast toothpaste in the mornings. Roast beef toothpaste on Sundays. Red wine or whisky toothpaste before bed.
Pondering such a notion was certainly more entertaining than watching this clumsy new consumer programme for pet owners. A spin-off from human equivalent Trust Me, I’m a Doctor, it tried to put the “dog” into Watchdog. Unfortunately it forgot to put in the “Watch”.
This opening episode came from the Royal Veterinary College in Hertfordshire. We learnt that the best way to care for a dog’s teeth is to brush them (hold the front page), that dry dog food contains betterbalanced minerals than wet, and what to do if your pet gets run over in a road traffic accident. So far, so useful.
Features also covered rather more niche issues such as metabolic bone disease in Bearded Dragon reptiles. This sounded like an obscure specialist subject on Mastermind and was about as interesting. A test of flea treatments merely made me psychosomatically itchy. We watched surgery on a cat’s pituitary gland and a rabbit’s overgrown teeth. Skilful? Certainly. Dramatic? Not so much.
The best bits were the slow-motion action footage of dogs used to break up the segments. Look at its tongue loll! Coo at its bouncing ears!
Ponderous and stodgy, this was a worthy, stereotypical BBC-ish equivalent of Channel 4’s far superior Supervet. It belonged in the daytime schedules, not plonked clumsily in prime time. Trust me, I’m a TV critic.
Britain’s Nuclear Bomb: The Inside Story ★★★★ Trust Me, I’m a Vet ★★