Life

Feeling nostalgic for the TV shows of childhood

Nostalgia means a longing for home and home was furnished with an old black and white television set with a screen not much larger than a thrupenny stamp. But oh we dreamed large

Nuala McCann

Nuala McCann

Nuala McCann is an Irish News columnist and writes a weekly radio review.

The Swiss family Robinson on a spaceship off the far end of Mars
The Swiss family Robinson on a spaceship off the far end of Mars The Swiss family Robinson on a spaceship off the far end of Mars

AS I am writing, there is a flurry of gossip on t’internet suggesting that a certain video site is about to reboot the classic 1960s TV show, Lost In Space.

Nostalgia means a longing for home and home was furnished with an old black and white television set with a screen not much larger than a thrupenny stamp. But oh we dreamed large and we had imagination and a fine sense for twiddling the knob at the back of the old TV to the point where the figures emerged once more from the pea souper fog and snow storm that occasionally struck the screen.

I know we dreamed big because a recent re-run of an old Doctor Who episode had me bug eyed at my own younger self.

How could the younger me have hidden behind the sofa when it was clear that the big scary monster coming for Doctor Who was a man with a large shag rug on his back?

And then I grew up, you see.

But let us return, to the space family Robinson. They were like the Swiss Family Robinson but living on a spaceship off the far end of Mars.

They set out from an overpopulated Earth in the hope of finding a new planet. They had a robot that looked like an aluminium Bertie Bassett – with a set of arms that it flung around wildly, a pair of mad windmills. Muhammad Ali had nothing to fear from that boyo.

And it also blurted out a catchphrase that must have lodged in the craniums of a million baby boomers.

So that, like magic, when our home toilet becomes a temporary no-go area – when someone has boldly gone – then, that old robot’s words pop out of my mouth: “Danger! Danger! Warning! Warning!”

But that was Lost in Space. There was the sweet clean-cut American family with the sweet smiling momma who might have made apple pie to set out on the window sill of her clapperboard house to cool – were she ever to get back home to said house and to her gingham check pinny.

Of course, I identified with the young daughter called Penny. She had straight black hair and a radiant smile and she was a true innocent. She really believed the dastardly Zachary Smith was good underneath. A right old Pollyanna was Penny – or at least, that’s how I remember it.

Zachary was always up to no good and his catchphrase was: “Never fear, Smith is here.” But the underlying message was that you should be afraid, very afraid.

Shall I watch the updated Lost in Space? Perhaps. But it is never the same.

A friend brought me the soundtrack of the dubbed 60s French series The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe for a present. I put it on and, immediately, saw the empty sweeping shore and the footprints in the sand and heard the beautiful voice – I think it might have been why I ended up loving French so much.

The series itself was bit boring after you got introduced to Man Friday and watched him catch a few fish and build a shelter out of palm leaves... but ah, the music.

And then there was Saturday mornings and that beautiful song: “Come white horses, snowy white horses.” There was Belle and Sebastian; perhaps if there were more foreign programmes on the children’s TV schedules then modern languages would be more popular again. Look what Dora the Explorer has done for Spanish.

And if I’m growing more nostalgic for the shows of my childhood, then it’s Christmas and we all know the best Christmas days were when we were little.

And for me, that means Samantha twitching her nose in Bewitched, it means I love Lucy and The Virginian.

It means forever remembering the year I found out on a Christmas Eve that there was no Santa – my cousin shone a torch into the back of my father’s car and there, piled up, were presents for all six of us. I haven’t forgiven him yet. I was only 22.

But it’s also about my brother telling us little ones that he got up late on a Christmas Eve and caught sight of the end of Santa’s sleigh parked outside our house. Magic!

And the best Christmases were the ones at home when my mother put on a feast that would make Marco Pierre green with envy and – most importantly – agreed to schedule the meal for after the Top of the Pops special.

The only Queen we were waiting for was the group that sang Bohemian Rhapsody. That Christmas number one was a great year. They say that Queen were just about to give up – they were broke – and then along came that hit. And Freddy echoes down the years and makes thousands smile and remember... just remember.