28. THE WRITING IS ON THE WALL FOR THE PIRATES

Already in late 1966 the writing was on the wall for the radio stations off Britain's coast. The government of Harold Wilson, egged on by Post Master General Tony Ben, was determined to bring in legislation to make it illegal for British citizens or companies to supply the pirates, work for them or advertise on the stations.

On January 1^st 1967 there was a bit of good news for a change. As announced earlier by Caroline on New Year's Eve, Radio 390 returned to the airwaves. I remember, the next day, writing a letter to Prince Charles protesting against the British government's actions to sink the pirates.. “Why not”, I thought “the crown prince is a paid-up member of the Big L club and has a Radio London T-shirt...” After a few months I got a reply from the Home Office with the usual lies.

The imminent demise of the offshore stations was not the only problem at the time. I also had to try and commit professor Hesman's German “Kulturgeschichte” to memory. I found that this was best done with the deep brown voice of Jim Reeves in the background. Luckily both Radio 390 and Radio 355 (former Britain Radio) now had a Jim Reeves Show on Sundays. The reason being that after a boardroom battle station manager Ted Allbeury left 390 and went on to run Radio 355, taking most of his middle-of-the-road programming ideas with him and some of the dj's. Theodore Edward le Bouthillier (Ted) Allbeury (1917-2005) had been a real-life spy during the Second World War, decades before he got involved with radio and then started writing best-selling novels.

Not only Britain Radio had changed name... As it proved unsuccessful Swinging Radio England went Dutch and turned into easy going Radio Dolfijn and still later into Radio 227. It was hard to keep up with the changes. Later more upset as one by one the fort based stations fell by the wayside and my exams doomed...

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23. THE AFTERMATH OF THE REM AFFAIR

In the dying days of TV-Noordzee viewers had been encouraged to become members of the TROS, an acronym for Televisie Radio Omroep Stichting. This organisation aimed at and succeeded in becoming one of the official broadcasters in The Netherlands, as the number of its required members grew in leaps and bounds. Just a year after the demise of the REM-project the TROS was given time slots in the Dutch public broadcasting system. It became the first of the so-called broadcasting pillars (omroepzuilen) to programme the kind of light entertainment the public really wanted to hear and see. Up to that time the other ‘pillars’ had mainly focussed on issues such as education, religion, culture and politics. The growing popularity of the TROS programmes soon forced the original Dutch broadcasters to follow suit.

After Radio & TV Noordzee was forced off the air at the end of 1964 the REM Island lay derelict for ten years. From 1974, when the tell-tale mast was removed, until 2004 the platform was used by the Dutch government to automatically measure sea temperature, salt concentration and wave height. In addition also meteorological information was collected. Early in the new century the measuring platform, which had been renamed “Meetpost Noordwijk”, had outlived its usefulness. In 2004 the construction was put up for sale, but no buyer was found. Two years later, in September, the remainder of the former REM-island was dismantled with the help of the large pontoon crane Rambiz, supplied by the Vlaamse Berginsmaatschappij Scaldis. In 1987 the enormous crane had also been deployed to right the capsized Townsend Thoresen ferry Herald of Free Enterprise off the coast of Zeebrugge.

The upper structure of the REM-platform was temporarily stored in the port of Vlissingen. Later it was purchased by the housing association De Key and moved to Amsterdam, where in July 2011 it opened as a restaurant. 

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19. THE REM ISLAND SUMMER

In late Spring 1964 the papers in the Netherlands and Flanders were awash with news about an offshore TV-project that was being prepared by a Rotterdam-based ship builder. Cornelis Verolme had set up a company called ‘Reclame Exploitatie Maatschappij’, which he floated on the stock market. As a result of the massive media-hype surrounding the project, in just a few hours the REM share-issue was heavily over-subscribed. Thousands of ordinary Dutch men and women proved eager to invest 20 guilders per share in the company. Within 10 days, the value had leaped to 143 guilders

In the meantime the artificial REM-island, built in the Irish port of Cork, was lashed on to the massive lifting vessel ‘Global Adventurer’, and transported to a position off the Dutch coast. Soon afterwards work started in earnest on ‘The Thing’ -as the Irish workmen called it- in international waters some 6 miles off the seaside resort of Noordwijk. Fifty two meter long steel piles were inserted into each of the six leg segments and subsequently hammered into the seabed. Working day and night Dutch, Irish, Belgian and Spanish workmen assembled the offshore construction in just eight days.  

Subsequently Radio Noordzee was heard testing on a number of frequencies. On Wednesday July 29th 1964 –the middle of my Summer hols- the station settled on 214m Medium Wave. At the time I was again spending a few weeks at the house of my mother’s eldest sister in Beerzel. Whilst there I often went on long bicycle jaunts with Ronald Hazelrigg, an American friend of mine. Ronny -as we called him then- was at his grandparents for the Summer. The boy -he was a year younger than me- was mad about bicycles; at the time a most uncommon mode of transport in the States I understand. As there was hardly anyone else in the village who could speak English, Ronny and I, having met watching the dodgem cars at the Summer fair, spent a lot of time together. 

If I was baffled over Ronny’s dreams of becoming a professional cyclist, he was even more bewildered by the fact that I made such a song and dance over some radio station going on the air. In Wheelersburg Ohio, where he then lived, one could tune in to any number of commercial stations, many of them from nearby Portsmouth. It took some time to explain that things were totally different in most of Europe. Hence -on Noordzee’s on air day- it was at near breakneck speed that we cycled back to catch the first proper wireless transmissions from the REM-island on his grandmother’s set. Reception was excellent but the music was somewhat disappointing. The station was no match for either Caroline or Veronica. 

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09. MORE UN-PC PECCADILLOES

With hindsight it proved that, a few years later, my next choice of favourite shortwave broadcaster was also most politically incorrect! My aim had been to pick up Springbok Radio in Afrikaans, because it is a language that is easy to understand for speakers of Dutch. That proved no simple matter, as these broadcasts were for domestic consumption only and not directed towards Europe. So I had to settle for Radio RSA broadcasting in Dutch from Johannesburg. In spite of the fact that it was the mouthpiece of the apartheid regime I was fascinated by the station. So much so that I collected titbits of radio news in a stencilled magazine called ‘Bokmakierie Express’. The name referred to the unique species of yellow, green and grey coloured ‘bush-shrike’, a bird native to Southern Africa. Even to this day, when I hear the loud melodious song of the Bokmakierie mixed, as it was, with RSA’s station call "Ver in die Wêreld Kitty", it still makes the hairs on my arms stand on end.

Some years after that, in 1970, even a Radio RSA listening group was formed during a get together in Utrecht. Most of us were in fact fans of ‘De puntjes op de X’, RSA’s dx-programme presented by Chris Uitzinger (1926-2006). Not to be outdone by the Dutch, a year later a garden party was organized in Belgium, at the home of antenna-specialist Hubert Carton in Loppem, near Bruges. As South-African officials were going to be present at this do, I popped in at the embassy in Brussels. The group wanted to make sure, that whoever was going to put in an appearance at our meeting, was well aware that our love of Radio RSA did by no means extend to the racist policies of the South African government. Having delivered this message, the Embassy’s chargé pointed to the corner  of his  office and  told me to “pick up the stick” that stood there. “Surely, he’s not going to beat me” I thought. Seeing that I was reluctant to follow his order, he added “walk with it”. Later the chargé explained that the artfully carved walking stick had belonged to Paul Kruger (1825-1904) the first president of the South African Republic (Transvaal) and the face of Boer resistance against the British. The walking stick, called a kierie in Afrikaans, was on its way back to RSA, having been on display at an exhibition in The Netherlands. 

As it happens, it was on Radio RSA, that my voice first hit the airwaves. In November 1969, at the studio of RSA-member Izaak De Kramer in Tongeren, we both recorded season’s greetings for the X-mas edition of Chris Uitzinger’s DX-programme. It was weird to subsequently hear one’s voice filter through the static from half a world away. Soon however even more outlandish things were waiting in the wings. But first, I had to wade through a few more acres of shortwave real estate. 

08. WHATEVER WILL THE NEIGHBOURS THINK

Although it was not against the law, my mother was not too happy about me listening to pro­grammes -in Dutch or otherwise- from the USSR. Her displeasure grew ex­ponentially how­ever when I re­ceived a letter from Russia and the postman decided to deliver it to the wrong address, a bit further up the road. “Whatever will the neighbours think”, she sighed disapprovingly. My mother, having seen the Gestapo at close quarters during the war, felt sure that our family must now be under the watchful eye of whatever equivalent organisation was bound to be in existence in Belgium… I, on the other hand, was delighted having received a commemorative pin and a letter (on cheap rice paper) singing the praises of Gherman Titov. On the 6th of August 1961 he had become the second man in space. In the event it proved that my early flirtation with Russian radio did not summon the secret police to our house, much to the relief of my mother. 

Radio Moscow be­gan broadcasting to The Netherlands and Flanders as far back as 1930. During the height of the Cold War Russia was on the air in 65 languages, including three half hour programmes in Dutch every evening. The station had one of the best known interval signals. Moscow could be picked up easily in shortwave and -from transmitters in East Germany or the Baltic states- also on medium wave. Transmissions in Dutch and many other languages were discontinued in 1994, when the roubles ran out, some time after the collapse of the Soviet Union.

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