In a radio recording studio, there is always someone listening . . .
BY ALISON CARTER
Set in 1985
IT was an ordinary day in Studio Six. Thirty minutes of a 90-minute drama had to be in the can by seven o’clock.
Then Amanda Jones could go home to a new episode of “Blackadder” and a bowl of spaghetti.
Carson Dawlish put his head round the control room door just before ten. Amanda had just finished rigging the microphones.
It was a modest set-up – few different locations. She’d told her junior studio manager Keith to come in late, ready to record.
“Mandy, Mandy!” Carson heaved the sound-proof door open. “It’s you! Always a joy to work with!”
Amanda took off her headphones and prepared for the Carson embrace.
He was a big man, perfect for playing Henry VIII (which he’d done, twice, on the London stage). His bear hugs were famous.
Today he moved more slowly, and Amanda recalled his gammy hip. A six-month Radio Repertory Company contract was perfect for him as it healed.
“Three days of gentle fun!” He wrapped her in a scratchy cardigan and the odour of cigars and whisky.
A lot of actors liked radio. It paid badly, but no-one had to wear make-up or period costume and there was a lot less waiting around.
“Miserable play,” Carson remarked.
“I think the writer’s new.”
“Can we play jokes on him, darling? It’s such fun with new folk.”
“He’s a she. And no, Carson, you can’t.”
“Darling, you temper my worst excesses! I’ll see you after the read-through.”
Ellis Hughes dropped in before going to the green room for the read.
A seasoned producer, he’d whip the play into shape by the time recording started at eleven-thirty.
Amanda was at the sound desk making notes when Keith arrived. He was very young, only out of training for six months, and so eager to please that Amanda found him exhausting.
He was also, she noticed, still upset. Keith had split up with his boyfriend three weeks ago, a charming young man in Marketing.
“So, scene eleven,” Keith said immediately.
He flung his anorak and bag into a corner and began prising open new boxes of quarter-inch audiotape.
“Scene eleven is a nightmare.”
“We’ll tweak it, don’t worry,” Amanda assured him.
“But acting inside a wardrobe!” Keith cried. “Two of them! With coats on hangers in there, too?”
In every radio play was a moment that a st
