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Wearing my (radio) love like heaven

A slight re-edit here of something I first wrote in 2003, long before any dreams of becoming a Media lecturer had even crossed my mind. It’s a snapshot of a particular time in the digital radio space – BBC7 was precisely one year old when I typed this out. I suppose it gives an interesting context to the Beeb’s (justifiable IMHO) decision to move BBC Radio Four Extra online – that’s much less a niche platform than DAB was in those days.

I’ve focused on comedy here, but BBC7’s efforts to nudge a child audience into speech radio deserves a very honourable mention. I heard one of the producers of the Big Toe Radio Show and Little Toe Radio Show speak at our Cyfrwng media conference in about 2010. Her passion and belief that kids deserved meaningful radio lit up the room like a beacon. Pity there weren’t more like her. Anyway, it was nineteen and a bit years ago today when…

One of the current poster adverts for the BBC’s new radio stations reads “Make time for BBC digital radio. Fall ill.” That’s delightfully ambiguous as slogans go, isn’t it, but there’s more truth in that than even the BBC might realise.

Laid up in bed in the aftermath of having my appendix removed at the age of eleven, with no television and advice against lifting a book, I discovered radio, and started consuming it in vast quantities. I discovered the wit (and record collection) of Martin Kelner on Radio 2, making me aware of Cat Stevens’ back catalogue at a frighteningly young age. I discovered the hidden recesses of Radio Cymru, with Gareth Glyn opening new musical doors before my very ears.

More than anything else though, I discovered radio comedy. A particularly good time to do so, with imperial-phase Radio Active and Son of Cliche both being broadcast, and I’m Sorry I Haven’t a Clue as funny as it’s ever been, but curiously without the audience whooping and hollering at every single joke regardless of the level of humour.

A love of radio comedy has stayed with me ever since. So when the BBC announced that their ‘Network Z’ for digital radio would be devoted, amongst other things, to archive comedy and drama, my excitement was tempered with more than a little trepidation. Would they take the easy option and just broadcast wall-to-wall Dead Ringers and Goon Shows, or would they make an effort to trawl the BBC archives for the neglected, half-remembered and ultimately more interesting programming?

As it turns out, BBC7, having thankfully jettisoned its rubbish working title of BBC 4Word, chose the road less travelled by, and for me, that really has made all the difference. In the year (to the day) since its launch, I’ve had the pleasure of seeing my List Of Programmes I Wish They’d Repeat being slowly whittled down, through BBC7’s offerings of old Burkiss Ways, Radio Actives (by the truckload), Mary Whitehouses, On the Hours and even Lionel Nimrods. Only one programme remains still on my wish-list, in fact, and I guess I shouldn’t exactly hold my breath for a re-run of Elastic Planet.

And to my surprise, and relief in retrospect, it’s become my default radio station. John Shuttleworth was my companion during an arduous dissertation write-up earlier in the year, and Sean Lock has rather incongrously helped me put many a church magazine to bed. It remains my best excuse for buying a digital radio – even though (bizarrely, and through no direct fault of BBC7 themselves) the highest quality way of listening to it is through a television.

I love BBC7 to bits, and with it reaching nearly 300,000 people a week, I know I’m not the only one. I live in hope that it’ll flourish as digital radios become mainstream. The only possible cloud on the horizon is the BBC’s track record of completely ruining things that were liked by a significant minority (invariably including me). The first incarnation of BBC Choice beat BBC Three into a cocked hat, and I haven’t come across a radio station to which I could happily listen from morning till night since the original Radio Five closed down. BBC7 doesn’t count on the latter score, by the way – I can’t pick it up when I’m driving.

But all that aside, happy birthday BBC7. It’s far surpassed my expectations of it being nothing more than Dead Ringers 24, it’s opened my ears to half-forgotten and never-remembered comedy, and its message board shows that like no other radio station, it listens to its listeners.

Maybe I should email them about Elastic Planet after all.

Tip-top

Gwell i fi gyfaddau o’r cychwyn – ar y gorau, diodde rygbi ydw i fel camp. Rhaid cyfaddau hefyd bod hynny’n achosi cryn boendod i fi ar adegau. Wedi’r cyfan, oni ges i fy magu yng Nghwm Gwendraeth, calon rygbi Cymru? On’d oedd fy niweddar dad wedi cefnogi Llanelli gydol ei oes ac hyd yn oed wedi prynu debenture i sicrhau ei sedd yn hen Barc yr Arfau? Yn ysgol y Gwendraeth, mi oedd dad am gyfnod yn yr un XV â Carwyn James, ac yn ei arddegau a’i ugeiniau, chwaraeodd dad i dîm Cefneithin ac ennill sawl tlws. Un o uchafbwyntiau bywyd Dad, chwe mis cyn iddo farw o ganser yn Ysbyty Glangwili, oedd ei fod yno (yn ystyr Max Boyce y gair) yn Stadiwm y Mileniwm i weld seremoni a gêm agoriadol Cwpan Rygbi’r Byd yn 1999.

A fi? Prin y medra i ddal pêl, heb son am redeg gyda hi. Ac mae’n llawer gwell gen i ddilyn trywydd yr Elyrch na’r Gweilch.

Ond fedra i ddim peidio talu rhyw fath o deyrnged i Raymond William Robert Gravell o Fynydd-y-Garreg, fyddai wedi bod yn 70 mlwydd oed heddiw. Gŵr bonheddig yn ystyr llythrennol y gair, llawn cystal yn y stiwdio ddarlledu ag yr oedd ar y cae rygbi – ac o ystyried ei fod wedi ennill 23 cap i Gymru ac wedi helpu trechu’r Crysau Duon ar Barc y Strade, nid ar chwarae bach mae dweud hynny. Byddai mam yn arfer tyngu’n bod ni’n perthyn o bell – Grevilles oedd ei theulu hi, o’r un ardal â Grav, felly mae’n ddigon posib bod ganddi bwynt.

Mae gan bawb gyfarfu â Grav stori i’w hadrodd, felly dyma fy stori i…

Gwaith Llafar ar Dâp Sain, Eisteddfod yr Urdd Tâf Elái, 1991. Y gofyn oedd am raglen radio tua 15-20 munud o hyd, ac mi oeddwn i eisoes wedi ffoli ar radio fel cyfrwng, felly pam lai na chystadlu? Hanner tymor fis Chwefror, fe berswadiais i fy ffrind Dafydd druan mai’r peth gorau i ni ei wneud oedd ymweld â stiwdios y BBC ar Heol Alexandra yn Abertawe.

Roedden ni yno i gyfweld â Sulwyn Thomas, un o enwau mawr Radio Cymru ar y pryd. Roedd Grav yn brysur yn gweithio yn swyddfa Radio Cymru: roedd e’n paratoi sioe geisiadau’r wythnos wedyn, ar ôl gorffen darlledu ychydig oriau ynghynt.

Ac am 11:59 (a 55 eiliad), fe siaradodd Sulwyn fymryn bach yn ormod… a chrasho’r pips! Pechod marwol radio byw, a doedd Grav ddim am adael i Sulwyn anghofio hynny.

Ac am 12:00 (a 3 eiliad), roedd y newyddion yn dod yn fyw o Gaerdydd, a Sulwyn yn cael ychydig o seibiant. Wel, efallai ddim cymaint o seibiant â hynny…

Rhuthrodd presenoldeb mawreddog Grav i mewn i ystafell reoli Stondin Sulwyn. Gwelais Deiniol, y cynhyrchydd, yn ochneidio, ac yn syth bin, pwysodd Dafydd y botwm recordio ar ein dec casét ni. Ac yna, unwaith i Ray Gravell weld bod ein tâp yn rhedeg, bloeddiodd:

“MAE E WEDI CRASHO’R PIPS! MAE SULWYN WEDI CRASHO’R PIPS, BOIS! DYW GRAV BYTH YN CRASHO’R PIPS! MAE GRAV YN CHWALU’R PIPS YN RHACS! MAE E’N GWEUD, “SHGWLWCH NAWR PIPS, ROIA I PIPS I CHI! ROIA I PIPS I CHI I’R CHWITH, PIPS I CHI I’R DDE, A PIP PIP HWRÊ I CHI I GYD!”

Ac yna, ar ôl sgwrsio’n siriol gyda ni (‘Bro Myrddin ŷch chi, bois?’) a dymuno pob hwyl i ni yn y steddfod, fe aeth i mewn i stiwdio Sulwyn a’i boenydio am weddill bwletin Caerdydd.

Wel, beth ddweden ni am hynny felly? Clown, yn ystyr orau’r gair, a chawr, hefyd yn ystyr orau’r gair. Fe enillon ni’r gystadleuaeth, gyda llaw. Ocê, gwell bod yn onest – un cais ddaeth i law, ond teilyngdod yw teilyngdod, ie? Darn Grav oedd yr uchafbwynt yn ddi-os, yn ôl y beirniad.

Heb or-ystrydebu, gobeithio wir bod Grav bellach yn rhywle lle nad oes neb byth yn crasho’r pips. Os nad yw, rwy’n siŵr y medr ddysgu gwers bach iddyn nhw.