Acknowledgements
In a book that has consumed such a large and important period of my life, I feel I must take time out to thank all those who have helped me over the years.
Since the bulk of this text is built around interviews I have personally conducted, I would like to thank those who let themselves be interviewed (some several times). They were, Roger and Ann Lloyd, Eamon Cooke, James Dillon, Robbie Robinson, Mick Doyle, Declan Meehan, Billy Wall, Mike Hogan, Andrew Hanlon, Chris Cary, Eddie Ryan, Tony Allan, Eric Graham, Eamon Brookes, Tony Boylan, Jimmy Smith, Tom Hardy, Adrian Kennedy, Sally Reynolds, David Harvey and Paul Vincent. My thanks too to Mary C. Thomas for access to her taped interviews and thesis.
Two people who granted me interviews must be singled out for a special mention. Firstly Kieran Murray who graciously gave me access to his Free Radio Campaign Ireland files and his wealth of knowledge in the area. Secondly Ken Sheehan, the original founder of Radio Dublin. Without his help this book could never have been as accurate as it is. For the proofing, wisdom and cups of tea, many thanks! I would also like to thank Bernard Evans for tracking down some of the graphics.
There were others too who assisted me in my background research. I am grateful to Bernard Llewellyn, Dennis Murray, Dion Breen, Martin Block, Margaret Nelson, Dave Fanning, Neil O' Shea, Gerard Roe, Gary Wild, Tony Donlon, and to Ruth and Barrie Johnson. I'd also like to formally thank the staff of The National Library of Ireland, BBC Northern Ireland, RTE library, the IBA in London, the NIHE Dublin library, the ITU in Geneva, the DIHE in Bournemouth, the State Paper Office Dublin, and the Department of Communications.
On a more personal level I must thank my mother for proofing the early drafts, my father for the free biros and everyone else for putting up with me.
A special debt of gratitude is owed To Fiona Sweeney, who suffered me and my various projects for so long. A 'thank you' seems hardly enough so I'll try 'sorry'. Without a shadow of a doubt the most influential person behind this book is Prof. T.J. Wheeler (Tim to his friends!). Even though Tim moved house and college, his commitment and interest in this project never wavered. For his personal kindness, his micro, his time and friendship and his lessons in how to liberate white A4 from other people's photocopiers, I will be eternally grateful! Finally I'd like to thank all at Borderline for their enthusiasm and commitment to this book.
PM
Author's Preface 1988
Radio Radio is the result of six years research into unlicensed radio in Ireland. It takes the subject from the very birth of the Irish Republic in 1916, right up to the present day. Pirate stations by their very nature tend to be secretive. Like the outlaws of the wild west, station operators see themselves engaged in a battle for survival against the powers that be. These latter-day cowboys are individuals who distrust bureaucracy and conformity and indeed anything or anyone who threatens their freewheeling and therefore glamorous lifestyle.
In such a covert industry records are rarely kept, and anything documented by stations tends to be grossly biased. Facts cease to exist and are replaced by opinions. Getting to the truth then was like making a huge jigsaw puzzle on a trampoline.
In boiling down the mountain of material I have accumulated over the years, I have tried to keep the text as accessible as possible. I have avoided in-jokes, buzz words, lists of people and boring details about technical equipment. This book is aimed at anyone who listens to the radio or has had their curiosity aroused by the pirate stations.
Writing is selective and what is recorded becomes fact - whatever the reality. Memory fades, the written word doesn't. The official story of Irish broadcasting revolves around RTE. It records the organisation's successes and failures and presents them in isolation as the truth. As Orwell's Winston Smith found, "Who controls the past controls the future; who controls the present controls the past." Pirate radio and the influence it has had on Irish society have been ignored. Contrary to the official story, unlicensed radio has been a lot more than an irritation on the backside of State monopoly broadcasting.
Because pirate stations were not bound hand and foot by legislation, during the 1970s and 80s they anticipated all the major innovations in Irish radio, like Irish language broadcasting, music radio, and twenty four hour broadcasting. While RTE was first to introduce experimental community radio, it stayed as just that - experimental. Pirate stations under the guidance of the NACB matured to meet a real public demand.
On the commercial front, successful stations invested heavily in quality mixers, optimods, transmitters and jingle packages. Professionally this put them ahead of RTE, who were struggling with the hairshirt reality of a semi-State existence. In relation to broadcast talent, many of the present and future 'names' began life on pirate radio. Those stations were setting the trends, not only with their musical formats, but with outside broadcasting, big-money competitions, and additions to the very grammar of radio - so that MW and VHF became respectively AM and FM, while in tune with the pirate vogue Radio 2 took a second name, 2FM. With RTE following initiatives set by pirates, the organisation lost its dominance. Unlicenced stations then grew in power and influenced the development of broadcasting in Ireland to as great, if not a greater extent than RTE.
This then is that story.
Peter Mulryan
Foreword 1988 Edition
It seems to me there were 3 kinds of people involved in pirate radio in the late 70s. There were those who loved the technical side of broadcasting and the excitement of trying to use the airwaves to provide a local Luxemburg/Caroline style service. Then there were those who saw it as a way to make money. Finally there were those who loved music and playing records.
I never knew much about transmitters, frequencies or modulators, and looking back on the two years I spent (between August 77 and May '79 on Radio Dublin and Big D) I never made a penny. In fact, the only way to get home from town four nights a week at 5 or 6 in the morning was by taxi (sticking 50 albums on the back carrier is no t recommended!) and I was able to pay for that by working as a DJ in McGonagle's in South Anne Street at the weekends.
Radio Dublin, where we broadcast from the front room of a terraced house in Inchicore, was good fun; but my best memories of the 70s all revolve around late night Big D in '78, in Chapel Lane near Parnell Square. All we wanted was to be left alone after midnight, free of hypocritical station jingles, non-stop ads and the relentless 9-5 pursuit of profit through pop.
Myself and Smiley Bolger were in charge after midnight and nothing mattered but the music. Smiley used to arrive down from McGonagle's and start his programme at 3.33am. He'd plug in his ghettoblaster which acted as a thumping studio monitor and he'd change the light bulb from normal to red. The result? Great music, great fun.
From the midnight hour onwards the 'studios' in Chapel Lane acted as a regular visiting place for local bands who'd come along to be interviewed and get their demos played. One of those bands was U2.
In this excellently researched book, Peter states that Big D was" based in an old closed up factory with a hole in the roof. The station was always cold and damp." Factually he is right, but it was never like that when Smilev was around.
Peter has done an excellent job at making, to quote his own phrase, "a huge jigsaw puzzle on a trampoline." This is the story of the Irish pirates. Even if you weren't there, it's a great read.
Dave Fanning
Dublin, March 1988.
Foreword 2011 Edition
"It was how I imagined the Beatles store on Baker St. in London during the 60’s." That was my answer when asked, "what was it like in Radio Nova in the 80s?" The mayhem, unpredictability and most of all amazing creativity, which was generated by a collection of the eccentric, the artistic and thankfully the sane… It was all delivered with passion and it was extraordinarily successful.
The 1970’s were a mixture of hobby-DJs, almost pretending they were on a pirate ship (me!), potential entrepreneurs, and technical geeks. There were music fans too who came in a variety of ego sizes and varying degrees of naivety. My motivation, like so many others, was to have fun, live a dream and to contribute to creating an independent sector. I wanted to get a job and be like my heroes on Radio Caroline, others like Dave Fanning wanted to spread the word on interesting music. I suppose we all loved the glamour of being illegal. From the early 1980’s to 1989, the growth of an independent sector really took shape and many enthusiasts were hopeful they could earn a living from radio.
Almost anyone could be on radio, most presenters would be given a spot and an opportunity to prove themselves like the day I brought John Clarke from a radio station called KELO in Swords to meet Chris Cary in Radio Nova and recommended him for a slot. Chris said, "nice to meet you John, you're on in 10 minutes". Sink or swim!
Some even set up their own stations. This often led to unlikely local heroes. 'John the Man' on Radio Luimnigh is a great example of this. The word 'unique' is to understate John, with his fun, his singing and his relationship with his listeners. And up to that time what station would have employed a 'Double Glazing Salesman' with an American accent? Radio Nova did and Bob Gallico became one of the era's most memorable stars. There was no ban on British-sounding announcers either. Offshore stars like Tony Allen, Robbie Dale and Andy Archer all joined the revolution, or as Chris Cary named it, "The Great Irish Radio Experiment". It later led to a legal Independent sector in late 1989, over 20 years ago.
Today's stations, mostly on FM, are also available on the internet. Local stations are now an integral part of our lives. In ‘Radio Radio’ Peter explores the different philosophies of those pioneering times, including the debate between 'commercial' and 'community'. Today, Radio Kerry in particular, epitomises the successful amalgamation of these outlooks. Quality programmes reflecting their area, giving a platform to the community and at the same time being commercially profitable. In the 70s and 80s many DJs contributed to stations as 'volunteers', feeling they were part of a movement to further the development of radio and at the same time have fun and gain experience. There was of course exploitation of the idealistic by the greedy, but it was considered a trade off, a sort of 'learning for the future'. These days there is payment, but often staff work on local radio for low pay and did so, in many cases, even during the so-called 'boom times'; the downturn in the economy has only served to amplify this. Finances are tight as local businesses close or cut back on advertising. There are more weekend programmes pre-recorded by midweek staff and unlike the pirate era, a 'live' overnight-service is an exception. There are also over 20 Community Radio/Special Interest stations across the country operated primarily on a voluntary basis.
As regards the two National licences; we lost Century Radio in 1991 replaced by Radio Ireland in 1997, now Today FM. The other, Newstalk, initially started as a 'Dublin-Only' station, but now offers countrywide speech programming as an alternative to RTE. Both of these are owned by businessman Denis O'Brien's Communicorp. Who would have thought the pirate revolution for free, non-State-owned broadcasting would be bought by a corporate conglomerate that owns a multiplicity of stations. UTV owns two Dublin stations and others across the country, while Bay Broadcasting has an interest in three stations. What does this mean to the broadcasting staff? If you fall foul of one station within a group are you excluded from their other stations? Another worrying aspect could be the perception of interference in editorial independence should an unfavourable story emerge about the owners. Of course it can be argued that concentrated ownership makes commercial sense. There is a review of this by Government expected in early 2012.
One of the major criticisms of the pirate era was how difficult it was to have music of Irish origin played on some stations. Criticism came primarily from Irish Showband promoters. The Broadcast Authority of Ireland now polices a requirement of 20 per cent of Irish music on playlists. Incidentally, the Civil Servants doing this job are paid for by a levy imposed on the stations. Also each Independent station has a 20 per cent 'News and Current Affairs' stipulation. This can be a curse for those in niche markets but those who saw it initially as an imposition are finding they can often get higher advertising rates during their speech shows and often generate much desired 'talk-ability'. There are proposals to review this early in 2012 with specialist music channels possibly getting a derogation Again who would have thought back in the day, as we strove to escape Government interference, that we would have Civil Servants hanging on our every word to calculate speech content?
Radio stations are licensed for a specific period and often 'promises of performance' have evolved over their tenure. Many of the initial worthy aspirations of licencing have proved unworkable and through discussions with the Regulator there has been a whittling down of the early commitments. To balance however, the BAI encourage, through funding, documentary making, drama and diverse programmes which promote creativity. They have instituted ‘Learning Waves’ radio courses to enhance the performance of broadcasters. Mark Story who features heavily in this book, now contributes extensively to Learning Waves. and brings an empathy and continuity from his pirate days to his 2011 consultancy work.
As regards on-air we have our modern day 'mavericks' breaking down the barriers. For example Today FM's Ray Foley and the Off The Ball sports crew from Newstalk. Comedy is much more to the fore too with the likes of Mario Rosenstock. There is also a growing and very welcome number of female presenters on air; and not just in the stereotypical production roles linked to 'News and Current Affairs'.They are presenting entertainment shows, particularly on younger appeal stations
Now in 2011, as I check that wireless dial in Dublin, there are stations using the names of the 80's Pirates -Nova, Sunshine and Q102. Even Radio Milinda is back broadcasting on the web with original DJs. Many presenters from the pages of this book are on our current 'pre-sets'.
Nowadays there are so many fronts to fight for audience on - Digital, Internet and Satellite - and that’s before ipods, streaming and whatever the future brings.
And Radio 2 or 2FM? It struggled to compete during the super pirate days of the 1980s but found its success through the talent of Gerry Ryan from, coincidentally, the end of the era in 1989. Since Gerry's sad and premature passing in 2010 it seems the station is again searching to define its place.
Every year in May, on the anniversary of the raid on Radio Nova the class of 1982/1983 meet for dinner. We salute those who touched and influenced our radio lives who are, like Gerry, gone ahead. We remember Chris Cary, Tony Allen and the other heroes.
On a personal note, I would like to acknowledge Ernie Melia who owned the first station I broadcast on:Radio Vanessa in 1970. Ernie passed away in 2010 RIP.
Declan Meehan
Dublin, November 2011
by Peter Mulryan
First Published in 1988 by Borderline Publications
Smashwords edition Published in 2011 by Digital Kitchen
© 2011 Copyright Peter Mulryan
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you.
Author's Preface to the 1988 Edition
Foreword to the 1988 Edition by Dave Fanning
Foreword to the 2011 Edition by Declan Meehan
3 Fuse-wire, Black Coffee and Grim Determination
10 Black Magic and the Five Deadly Sins
Appendix I - Political Party Statements
"The Irish breed rebels where the English
breed gentlemen. The English like to watch the
action, the Irish provide it."
Ronan O'Rahilly, founder of Radio Caroline.
Reis' 'Fancy Goods Warehouse', on the corner of Dublin's Sackville Street and Lower Abbey Street was under heavy attack for the second day running. Over the shop, broadcasting history was in the making, but that history was probably the last thing going through the minds of the Irish rebels that Easter Tuesday, 25th April 1916.
Upstairs at 10-11 Lower Sackville Street (now O'Connell Street) was the Irish School of Wireless Telegraphy, and since occupying the building the previous day, the rebels had been repairing an old 1.5 Kw ship's transmitter. From 5.30pm that Easter Tuesday, until they were forced to leave the air at midday the following day, they informed anyone who may have been listening in to their Morse signal that a rebellion had taken place, and that an Irish Republic had been declared in Dublin. Up to this, Wireless Telegraphy had mainly been used in ship to shore communication. Here for the first time radio was used to reach a potential mass audience. The rebels were using the medium in a vain hope that some passing ships would pick up their transmissions and relay them to the United States. The rebels' message therefore wasn't aimed at any specific source; it was, in the true sense of the word, the world's first broadcast.
Although the rebels were forced off the air, they managed to smuggle part of the transmitter across Sackville Street, in an upturned table, to the GPO. All this was accomplished under a hail of British bullets.
By Friday, the GPO was in flames, and the transmitter perished in the fire. Pearse and his followers vacated the building and "...turned into Moore Street, striving to break northwards through the encircling military cordon...But Moore Street was dominated by a military barricade and The O'Rahilly, leading a forlorn charge against it, was shot down and killed." (FSL Lyons 1973, p.374) 'The O'Rahilly' was none other than Michael Joseph O'Rahilly - grandfather of Ronan O'Rahilly, who was to set up Radio Caroline almost fifty years to the day after his famous ancestor died.
* * *
The silence of World War I gave way to the roaring twenties, and the tinsel generation played with their new toy, the wireless. In Ireland though, broadcasting would have to be put on the long finger as the Irish Free State was in British Postmaster General felt would not work in the UK," it would result only in chaos, only in a much more exaggerated form than it exists in the United States."
Shortly after this, John Reith became the British Broadcasting Company's first General Manager. He saw a monopoly of the airwaves as helping a "unified direction", and as a further means of imposing his dream of radio as being a medium which would educate, inform, and entertain. On January 1st 1927, the British Broadcasting Corporation came into existence, and under the paternal guidance of Lord Reith it grew into the centralised monopoly that inspired the Irish legislators.
Bearing in mind the social, political and economic problems facing the Free State after the Civil War, legislation on Wireless Telegraphy came rather quickly. Barely three months after the first 'free' general election in the history of the State, the new Postmaster General, J.J. Walsh, presented his 1923 White Paper on broadcasting. "The combination of firms in the White Paper bears some resemblance to the BBC..." reported the examining committee. The resemblance was more than passing and the paper on Irish Wireless Telegraphy was to have further reaching consequences than anyone at the time could possibly have guessed.
The White Paper proposed that the Irish Broadcasting Company (IBC) would operate "a system of broadcasting in the Free State under licence from the Post Office." Five private radio companies were to run the IBC between them. One of these companies was Irish Developments Ltd., of 3 Molesworth Street, Dublin, and two of the original directors were a Mr. Figgis and a Mr. Belton. The IBC therefore was a private organisation with commercial backing. The IBC's programmes were to originate in the capital, and broadcasting hours were to be restricted to one hour in the morning, between Ham and midday, and an ambitious six hours in the evening between 5pm and 11pm.
On 14th December 1923, Deputy Darrell Figgis moved a Dail motion, "That a the throes of the Civil War, a war that raged for nearly a year, from 1922 to 1923.
In 1922 only 0.32% of the UK population were able to listen to the radio. In seven short years the figure had jumped to over 70%. By 1972 there were more radio receivers than people in the US, 1,339 for every 1,000.
With hindsight, the attitude of the British government (and therefore the Irish Provisional Government), towards radio was rather utilitarian. The wireless was seen as being a tool of the electronics industry: in London, Marconi operated station 2LO; in Birmingham, Western Electric had 51T while the Metropolitan Vickers group ran Manchester 2ZY. These companies were later to join forces to form the British Broadcasting Company.
Even as the Irish Provisional Government were monitoring the progress of the UK radio experience, the British were examining the situation in the United States of America. Here stations survived not on licence fees but on advertising revenue. This led to an early form of all-American, laissez-faire radio. This broadcast system led to numerous stations playing lots of jazz, something the committee of this house be appointed to consider the circular...entitled 'Wireless Broadcasting', especially in regard to the proposal which...should pass over the right to license and tax incoming wireless apparatus to a clearing house under the control of a private company."
It was agreed that a ten member committee be established to discuss the White Paper and to make a recommendation on the future of broadcasting in Ireland. Deputy Figgis had started a lot more than he could ever have imagined. A former journalist, Figgis had done his bit for Ireland. In May 1914 he accompanied Erskine Childers into Germany to purchase arms for the 1916 rebellion. While on this mission Childers got the inspiration for his famous espionage novel Riddle of the Sands. In the early twenties Figgis dabbled in business before going into politics. It was during this period that he met Andrew Belton, a local entrepreneur, and together they set up Irish Developments Ltd. That company was one of the five constituent members of the proposed Irish Broadcasting Company, and Figgis was on the Dail committee discussing the future of Irish radio.
When Figgis' involvement with IBC's Belton became public, there was an outcry from furious TDs and an irate press. It was alleged that Belton was paying his old partner for political favours. Although Figgis strenuously denied the charges of corruption, the controversy raged, and on January 25th 1924, Figgis resigned. In his letter of resignation, Figgis explained that although they were once partners, had thoughts of helping Belton through political influence "been present to my mind, it is unnecessary to say that I certainly would not have accepted nomination to the committee." Amid all the scandal and uproar, a second member of the IBC Deputy Sean MacGarry resigned, due to his connections with the electrical trade. The effect of the Figgis-Belton affair on the final recommendations of the committee can never be measured. At this stage the whole future of Irish broadcasting lay on a knife edge: to one side State control, private commercial interests to the other.
State control means just that. The broadcasting station is either a branch of the civil service, or is linked to a government department, i.e. Communications. The content of the station is controlled by legislation. This ensures 'social responsibility', broadcasting in the public interest and trying to please all of the people some of the time.
Commercial or independent radio can be different. In the US and Australia, stations are left to their own devices. Within the laws of decency, stations can broadcast what they will. Market forces and not State control dictate programme content. So stations tend to cater for demographically targeted mass markets, with music. This is not only cheap to produce but guarantees a specific, usually young audience, and this keeps advertisers happy.
Commercial broadcasting can however have elements of Public Service Broadcasting, as with Independent TV and radio in the UK. But this compromise rests uneasily as paternal State control and the realities of the business world are poles apart. Ireland then was at a crossroads. Would the committee accept the White Paper and the commercial IBC, or would they follow the British model of State control?
The unsavoury commercial overtones of the Figgis-Belton affair were undoubtedly among the factors that tipped the balance in favour of State controlled radio. Brash commercialism, it would seem, left a nasty taste in the mouths of the committee members: "...of the firms or individuals named in the White Paper as constituent units of the proposed Irish Broadcasting Company... one at least has only the interest of a financier in the exploitation of broadcasting." No prizes for guessing which company they were talking about! Lord Thompson was years later to speak of commercial broadcasting as "a licence to print money". The IBC were never to experience Lord Thompson's enjoyable cliche. It was felt that the early history of Irish Developments Ltd. was "such as to convince the committee that the broadcasting concession should not be extended to that company."
With Irish Developments out of the race for a licence, the very foundations crumbled from beneath the IBC, and the White Paper was certain to be rejected. What was left of the committee issued their final report on 26th March 1924. It recommended, quite simply and bluntly that "broadcasting should be a State service purely - the installation and the working of it to be solely in the hands of the Postal Ministry." There was to be no commercial radio. The decision to recommend State control was taken because of the committee's belief that radio should be used for other purposes besides entertainment. It was felt that radio should be used to educate, to teach languages, and to impart the wonderfully rustic trio of "...fruit-growing, bee-keeping, and poultry-raising!" They also felt that radio was of national importance and therefore any entertainment value was "quite subsidiary". In 1923, they may have had a point.
In the early twenties the wounds of the Civil War were far from healed. The population was split pro- and anti-Treaty. The Free State was in political turmoil. Economically the State was sinking into a depression. 1921 to 1923 was a time of economic crisis, with agricultural prices dropping weekly. Therefore the Provisional Government felt that any medium that could encourage good farm husbandry and promote a unified national spirit should be exploited, not for private commercial gain but for the greater good of the citizens of Ireland: radio was that medium, and the State was to control it.
The Dail began debating the committee's report two days after its submission on 28th March, but the recommendations weren't accepted until 7th May, and then only after a heated debate. On one occasion, the Postmaster General, J.J. Walsh, summed up his feelings on the subject, "I am assured that the ordinary user of receiving sets feels that anything else but music jars on his nerves."
The debate outside Leinster House though was just beginning, and as the decades rolled by the voices of those who felt Ireland needed commercial broadcasting were to grow louder and louder as the State monopoly floundered like a beached whale.
The First Pirate
While the government was still trying to find potential operators to run an indigenous Irish radio service, private enterprise stepped in in the shape of the Marconi organisation, who already operated a successful radio station in London. It was Horse Show week, August 1923, and Marconi had a microphone and a transmitter situated in the Royal Marine Hotel, Dun Laoghaire, while the receiver was some six miles away in the Royal Dublin Society's show grounds, Ballsbridge. For many Dublin people this was to be their first taste of Wireless Telegraphy. They marvelled at the twice daily broadcasts and the news bulletins provided by the Evening Mail. But the experimental station was short lived. On Thursday morning, 17th August, the station failed to appear on the air. It had been closed down on the orders of the Postmaster General. This is how the Evening Mail of the day reported the story: "The temporary station at the Royal Marine Hotel, which aroused such interest and admiration has now been dismantled and the instruments taken out of the country at the request of the Postmaster General."
It was to be a taste of things to come, private enterprise taking upon itself to supply a service not provided by the State and the closure of that enterprise by representatives of the State.
* * *
That station from the Royal Marine had aroused much public interest, and shortly after this Irish newspapers started publishing tuning guides to UK stations. Slowly the amount of people fiddling with 'cats whiskers' and crystal sets began to grow. By 1924 advertisements for wireless receivers had become quite commonplace, promising "Nights of Pleasure: Opera, Dance Music, Songs, Lectures and the Late News at your command every night!" However as there were still no stations operating in the Free State, listeners had to make do with an imported culture.
On 27th May 1925, the government finally published its plans for the future of broadcasting in Ireland. It was J.J. Walsh, Minister for Posts and Telegraphs (his title had changed from Postmaster General in 1924), who made the announcement. Ireland was to have State controlled Public Service Broadcasting, and the first station, 2RN, was to be on air for New Year's Day, 1926. In the months leading to the launch of the station, excitement began to grow in the capital. Newspapers carried articles explaining exactly what radio did, how it could travel without wires for miles right into the living room, even with the windows closed!
At 7.45pm, 1st January 1926, the airwaves crackled into life, "This is 2RN, the Dublin Broadcasting Station calling!" Then Dr. Douglas Hyde, later to become the Republic's first President addressed the nation: "Our enterprise to-day marks the beginning not only of a new year, but of a new era, an era in which our nation will take its place among the other nations of the world...While not forgetting what is best in what other countries have to offer us, we desire to especially emphasise what we have derived from our Gaelic ancestors, from one of the oldest civilisations in Europe, the heritage of the O's and the Mac's."
Although the Dublin press gave excellent coverage to the launch of 2RN, the Cork Examiner was unmoved. After all, the station was for Dublin, and audible only within twenty-five miles of the transmitter in McKee Barracks. 2RN was meant to be the start of a string of localised stations around the country. Cork would follow, then Galway, Waterford etc., "thus using the talents of the whole country, for the whole country," said J.J. Walsh.
However his commitment to this kind of broadcasting is questionable, because in July 1926 as the British Broadcasting Corporation was being planned, he announced plans to build a national transmitter in the midlands. By 1929, the numerous British stations had joined forces, moved to London and become the centralised monopoly of the British Broadcasting Corporation. Ireland too adopted this model. Cork, the country's second city, enjoyed its own station 6CK for a short three and a half years. On 30th September 1930 it closed. Although Cork was later to become the centre of local TV and radio opt-out broadcasts, the closing of 6CK was the end of regular decentralised broadcasting in Ireland.
The Dublin station 2RN now found itself being rebroadcast in Cork. Then in 1933, when a powerful new 60Kw transmitter was opened in Athlone, the station could be heard all over the country. By 1937 Ireland had three transmitters in operation. The powerful Athlone rig, the power of which had been increased to lOOKw, and smaller transmitters in both Dublin and Cork. All three broadcast the same station, and by March 1939, this radio service became known as 'Radio Eireann'.
* * *
Below are highlights from two programme schedules for January the first. One is from the opening night of 2RN in 1926, the other from Radio Eireann in 1966. After forty years the programmes are not only interchangeable but almost identical. Can you tell which is which?
1st January 19XX
6:20 pm Announcements
6:45 pm A commemorative programme on the Easter Rising in 1916
7:30 pm Gaelic Songs
8:01 pm A programme featuring a prominent Irish comedienne
9:01 pm A recording of a Classical music recital
10:30 pm Ceili Music
11:30 pm Light music and songs
1st January 19XX
7:45 pm Announcements
8:00 pm Number One Army Band Plays Irish Ballads
8:15 pm Gaelic Songs
9:15 pm Irish Pipe Music
9:35 pm Classical music from Chopin and Field
10:05 pm A selection of Choral music
10:20 pm Tristan and Isolde
The similarities are striking. Even eleven years after the latest of those two schedules, on 1st January 1977, the only change was a one hour 'Discs-A-Gogan' from 7 to 8pm presented by the perennial Larry Gogan. This tokenism wasn't good enough. Clearly RTE's finger wasn't on the pulse of Irish life. In a country with such a young population, is it any wonder the pirates became so popular so quickly?
(The first set of programmes is from 1966, the second from 1926.)
* * *
In 1960, 'Radio Eireann' became Radio Telefis Eireann' (RTE), as the organisation took onto itself the provision of television broadcasting as well as radio. With this departure RTE ceased to be a branch of the civil service and an authority was appointed to take over responsibility for the station's running. However RTE was still a semi-State organisation and it suffered from all the problems associated with a slow-moving bureaucracy, complacent in its monopolistic cocoon.
While the years passed and new technologies like Direct Broadcast Satellite and Cable came on the scene, the legislative base of Irish broadcasting remained basically the same as it was in 1926. The broadcasting environment in which RTE operated had changed drastically, yet legislation failed to keep pace with these changes. By the 1980s, RTE had not only to compete with four British television channels, home video recorders, satellite TV and a host of British radio stations, but also with up to one hundred native pirate radio stations, that legally shouldn't have existed.
RTE continued to provide a nation-wide service, though by the early eighties the organisation found it increasingly difficult to maintain standards. The radio and television channels, its orchestras, its mobile radio studios and ever rising costs were slowly strangling the State monopoly. "The cash situation is getting worse by the day" warned John Sorohan, the chairman of the station's management association, while in 1982, Fred O'Donovan was even bleaker on the future of RTE, "we cannot hope to embark on anything but survival - this is now a survival operation."
As the RTE bureaucracy became ever more cash starved, it became ever more centralised. A gap was left for a local radio service. This gap was filled by private entrepreneurs. So pirate radio in Ireland grew largely because and in spite of RTE, thriving on the very deficiencies in the State controlled service.
Legislation
It was November 1926 before the Dail debated the long awaited 'Wireless and Telegraphy Bill', but the legislation made a quick passage through both houses and by 16th December 1926, it had become law. The 1926 Act defines Wireless Telegraphy thus:
'"Wireless Telegraphy' means and includes any system of communicating messages, spoken words, music, images, pictures, prints or other communications, sounds, signs or signals by means of radiated electro-magnetic waves originating in an apparatus or device constructed for the purpose of originating such communications, sounds, signs, or signals."
For 1926 this definition was quite comprehensive, and makes reservations for the eight month old innovation called television, even though at the time television was given little chance of catching on. Much of this Act is concerned with ship-to-shore communication. Sections three and eight concern us most closely.
Section three is concerned with "Restrictions on possession of Wireless Telegraphy apparatus." It is stated that "no person shall keep or have in his possession anywhere in Saorstait Eireann, or in any ship or aircraft...apparatus for Wireless Telegraphy save in so far as such keeping or possession is authorised by a licence granted under this Act."
It then goes on to tell us that anyone who does possess such transmitting equipment "shall be guilty of an offence...and shall be liable on summary conviction thereof to a fine not exceeding ten pounds, together with...a further fine not exceeding one pound for every day during which the offence continues and also, in every case, forfeiture of all the apparatus in respect of which the offence was committed."
In 1926, £10 was equal to half a night's broadcasting budget on 2RN, but by 1980 £10 wouldn't even buy a single forty five second spot on Radio Carousel. Timelessness is not a quality Radio Acts possess in abundance. This Act has other qualities too, like a lot of loopholes.
Section two of the Act defines an "apparatus for Wireless Telegraphy", or transmitter, but the definition is qualified with the statement that the apparatus must "not (be) capable of being conveniently used for any other purpose". Subjective words like "conveniently" don't belong in pieces of legislation. All that's needed is that proof be presented that indeed the transmitter does have other convenient uses besides transmitting and the case has to be dismissed.
In March 1977, Eamon Cooke, owner of Radio Dublin successfully fought off legal action when he demonstrated that his transmitter could be put to other uses besides transmitting. At this time Radio Dublin had been in operation in one form or another for eleven years. Commenting on the courts' ruling on his transmitter, Cooke stated that, "...because of the fact that it could possibly be used for other things bar transmitting, the case was dismissed." But even when the pirate stations were caught broadcasting, fines were paltry.
Radio Melinda was another station to run foul of the law. In this case a two pound fine was imposed on the broadcasters in 1973. Ten years later Robbie Robinson was fined only £20 for operating Sunshine Radio, a station with an annual turnover of several hundred thousand pounds!
Ridiculous as these incidents sound, they are just proof of how weak the 1926 Act actually was. The sections dealing with pirate broadcasting were unable to weed out the initial Irish hobby radio stations. So, in the absence of any strict laws prohibiting unlicensed stations, the pirates grew in size and in sophistication. As the number of pirate stations mushroomed in the 1970s, all Jack Lynch, the Taoiseach, could say was that they "...can be a source of acute embarrassment to this country internationally." Lynch had got his facts backwards. The pirates were not the cause of the embarrassment, the pirates were not the cause of anything - rather they were the symptom, the symptom of the frustration felt by commercial and community interest groups. The frustration that springs from hopelessly inept legislation. By choosing to play it safe and take no legislative action against the pirates, the governments themselves became the first to disdain the law. So they led by example. Maybe that is the most embarrassing fact of them all.
"There is something irresistibly romantic about a ship wallowing lazily in a light swell...and a small team of technicians and disc jockeys defying state monopolies... to take programmes into the homes of millions."
Paul Harris, broadcast historian and writer.
In the Europe of the 1920s and 1930s, the radio world was a lot less complicated than it is to-day. One by one the European governments licensed regular broadcasting services. Britain led the way with the inauguration of the British Broadcasting Company in 1922. A year later, in 1923, the Swiss, the Germans and the Belgians licensed their broadcasting organisations. They were followed in 1924 by Austria and Finland, and finally in 1926 the Irish joined their European neighbours, with the setting up of 2RN.
In the beginning then, each State controlled its own limited air space. There were few frequencies on which to broadcast and a large population with diverse tastes - Public Service Broadcasting (PSB) was born and with it the notion of 'social responsibility'. Here the Broadcast organisations tried to strike a balance between the shortage of available frequencies and the need for truly comprehensive programming on limited resources. The aim of individual plurality from a centralised monopoly gave the world PSB.
However as time went on more and more frequencies became available to the civilian broadcaster, equipment became less expensive and lighter. By the 1960s then as transmitters became more powerful, signals travelled further and national boundaries meant nothing, the State monopoly of the 'national air-waves' had become something of a myth. Radio Luxembourg and a host of pirates were booming across Europe, as people tuned in to the alternatives. Initially, European countries found themselves in an ideological dilemma.
On the one hand these democracies had to be seen to be in tune with public opinion, and on the other they had to protect the State monopoly of the airwaves. Freedom of speech was pitted against the protectionism of social responsibility. On one end of the 'freedom' spectrum lay anarchy, on the other authoritarianism. In profit-oriented western democracies governments found it harder and harder to ignore the public demand for a broadcast alternative - a choice. The cries of 'press freedom' grew louder and louder, and since any notion of press freedom means a plurality of channels and ideas, by definition it tends towards the anarchic end of the spectrum. Keeping the State broadcasting monopoly and excluding private concerns could be seen as a denial of freedom, something the 'free world' is conceptually opposed to.
Western governments found themselves at the centre of this difficulty, and with true foresight they chose to ignore the problem in the hope that it would go away. Problems however never do so, and while the State broadcasting monopolies did their competent best, their ideological and bureaucratic structures began to buckle under the weight of commercial pressure.
Robbie Robinson, a seasoned broadcaster from both licensed and unlicensed radio, put it succinctly. "There's no way that any one (broadcast) organisation can satisfy the needs and varied tastes of a nation." This train of thought is nothing new. As far back as 1946, Sir Frederick Ogilvy, an ex-Director General of the BBC warned in a letter to The Times, "Monopoly broadcasting is inevitably a negation of freedom; no matter how efficiently it is run, it denies freedom of choice to listeners."
This is true. But there is no sense of 'public responsibility' in commercial radio, and a greater number of stations does not automatically lead to greater choice. To put it bluntly, commercial radio is not a charity, it is out to make a profit. The community radio lobby, on the other hand, seldom have the contacts or the financial backing to win political favours, while those interested in 'Free Radio' long for an ideal world that does not exist, whereby stations are allowed to operate free from any external, political, commercial or union pressures. Moreover, commercial interests nurture 'Free Radio' as a handy smokescreen to hide behind.
Back in 1966 during the height of the UK off-shore radio pirates, a leading London newspaper wrote on the subject of pirate radio, "If the government is viewing the stations with increasing disfavour, the advertising community is not... We regard them as a serious means of advertising", a leading advertising agent told The Times." So the men with the money threw their considerable weight behind the 'Free Radio' lobby. As we will see this also happened in Ireland. Without these financial godfathers, the Irish stations could never have survived, let alone prospered. Their presence assured a proliferation of 'free' commercial pirates in the monetarist eighties.
The Off-Shore Radio Phenomenon
The mini-skirt was in, Beatlemania was sweeping Britain, and off the European mainland pirate radio ships were broadcasting a new kind of sound, to a generation born to the affluence of the sixties. Off-shore radio became a reality for the first time in 1958 when 'Radio Mercury' began broadcasting to Denmark. All in all there had been no less than eleven off-shore stations in operation before Ronan O'Rahilly's Radio Caroline came on the air, but most of these stations had been closed by 1964 when the relevant countries passed legislation to prohibit the pirate operators.
When Caroline arrived on the scene there were still two radio ships braving the elements and broadcasting. They were Radio Syd off the Swedish coast and Radio Veronica off the coast of Holland. The latter station became the first offshore pirate to broadcast in the English language, when it started a daily service in April 1960. British off-shore radio piracy came into being on Easter Sunday 1964. The station was Radio Caroline and with it came a totally new sound, that of independent commercial radio. Radio Caroline operated from the 'Fredrica', originally a Dutch ship that O'Rahilly had renovated at Greenore Harbour.
At this stage the BBC still enjoyed a monopoly over the native British radio waves. The BBC did not cater adequately to the tastes of youth. Moreover, the BBC had to abide by restrictive 'needletime' agreements, which controlled the amount of music from disc that could be played over the air. These restrictions imposed by the Musicians' Union meant that in 1964 the BBC could only play 75 hours of disc music in a 374 hour radio week. The remaining 299 hours had to be filled with taped music the BBC had commissioned, or with idle banter by presenters. Of course 'needletime' restrictions didn't apply to the pirates, much to the joy of the British public. The sixties had If begun to swing, but the official airwaves hadn't. Around London there had grown up a proliferation of 'Beat Clubs', playing to a generation that had never experienced a World War, a generation craving excitement. It was to this audience that the pirates were to appeal.